At noon Louis came in for a hasty luncheon, and before he left he drew Lily into the little study and slipped a solitaire diamond on her engagement finger.  To Lily the moment was almost a holy one, but he seemed more interested in the quality of the stone and its appearance on her hand than in its symbolism.

“Got you cinched now, honey.  Do you like it?”

“It makes me feel that I don’t belong to myself any longer.”

“Well, you’ve passed into good hands,” he said, and laughed his great, vibrant laugh.  “Costing me money already, you mite!”

A little of her exaltation died then.  But perhaps men were like that, shyly covering the things they felt deepest.

She was rather surprised when he suggested keeping the engagement a secret.

“Except the Doyles, of course,” he said.  “I am not taking any chances on losing you, child.”

“Not mother?”

“Not unless you want to be kidnaped and taken home.  It’s only a matter of a day or two, anyhow.”

“I want more time than that.  A month, anyhow.”

And he found her curiously obstinate and determined.  She did not quite know herself why she demanded delay, except that she shrank from delivering herself into hands that were so tender and might be so cruel.  It was instinctive, purely.

“A month,” she said, and stuck to it.

He was rather sulky when he went away, and he had told her the exact amount he had paid for her ring.

Having forced him to agree to the delay, she found her mood of exaltation returning.  As always, it was when he was not with he that she saw him most clearly, and she saw his real need for her.  She had a sense of peace, too, now that at last something was decided.  Her future, for better or worse, would no longer be that helpless waiting which had been hers for so long.  And out of her happiness came a desire to do kind things, to pat children on the head, to give alms to beggars, and—­to see Willy Cameron.

She came downstairs that afternoon, dressed for the street.

“I am going out for a little while, Aunt Nellie,” she said, “and when I come back I want to tell you something.”

“Perhaps.  I can guess.”

“Perhaps you can.”

She was singing to herself as she went out the door.

Elinor went back heavy-hearted to her knitting.  It was very difficult always to sit by and wait.  Never to raise a hand.  Just to wait and watch.  And pray.

Lily was rather surprised, when she reached the Eagle Pharmacy, to find Pink Denslow coming out.  It gave her a little pang, too; he looked so clean and sane and normal, so much a part of her old life.  And it hurt her, too, to see him flush with pleasure at the meeting.

“Why, Lily!” he said, and stood there, gazing at her, hat in hand, the sun on his gleaming, carefully brushed hair.  He was quite inarticulate with happiness.  “I—­when did you get back?”