His uncle’s eyebrows went up.  “Steady, Larry.  A wedding ring is usually considered presumptive evidence of marriage.”

“I don’t care,” flashed the boy, the tension of the past weeks suddenly snapping.  “She loves me.  I don’t see what right anything has to come between us.  What is a wedding ceremony when a man and woman belong to each other as we belong?  Hanged if I don’t think I’d be justified in marrying her tomorrow!  There is nothing but a ring to prevent.”

“There is a good deal more than a ring to prevent,” said Doctor Holiday with some sternness.  “What if you did do just that and her husband appeared in two months or six?”

“I don’t believe she has a husband.  If she had he would have come after her before this.  We’ve waited.  He’s had time.”

“You have waited scarcely two months, Larry.  That is hardly enough time upon which to base finalities.”

“What of it?  I’m half crazy sometimes over the whole thing.  I can’t see things straight.  I don’t want to.  I don’t want anything but Ruth, whether she is married or not.  I want her.  Some day I’ll ask her to go off with me and she will go.  She will do anything I ask.”

“Hold on, Larry lad.  You are saying things you don’t mean.  You are the last man in the world to take advantage of a girl’s defenseless position and her love for you to gratify your own selfish desires and perhaps wreck her life and your own.”

Larry bit his lip, wheeled and went over to the window, staring out into the night.  At last he turned back, white, but master of himself again.

“I beg your pardon, Uncle Phil.  You are right.  I was talking like a fool.  Of course I’ll do nothing of the kind.  I won’t do anything to harm Ruth anyway.  I won’t even make love to her—­if I can help it,” he qualified in a little lower tone.

“If you can’t you had better go at once,” said his uncle still a bit sternly.  Then more gently.  “I know you don’t want to play the cad, Larry.”

“I won’t, Uncle Phil.  I promise.”

“Very well.  I am satisfied with your word.  Remember I am ready to help any way and if it gets too hard I’ll make it easy at any time for you to go.  But in the mean time we won’t talk about it.  The least said the better.”

Larry nodded his assent to that and suddenly switched to another subject, asking his uncle what he knew about this Alan Massey with whom Tony was having such an extensive correspondence.

His uncle admitted that he didn’t know much of anything about him, except that he was the inheritor of the rather famous Massey property and an artist of some repute.

“He has plenty of repute of other kinds,” said Larry.  “He is a thorough-going rotter, I infer.  I made some inquiries from a chap who knows him.  He has gone the pace and then some.  It makes me sick to have Tony mixed up with a chap like that.”

“You haven’t said anything to her yourself?”