Perhaps never, in all her life of inopportune arrivals, had Miss Annabel been so truly welcome—or so bitterly resented! Esther turned to her with a heart-sob of relief, the minister walked away without a word.

"Dear me! What's the matter?" said the good lady. "You seem all excited. Perhaps I shouldn't have shouted out the news so abruptly. But it never occurred to me that you might be startled. 'Tisn't as if your mother had been away a year. Jane's waiting for you down by the gate. Such a peculiar child! Nothing I could say will induce her to come in. Don't you find Jane is a peculiar child, Esther?"

"Only a little shy," said Esther, quickening her steps.

"Shy! Mercy, I shouldn't call her shy. That child has the self-possession of a Chinee! I hope you won't mind me saying it, but a little shyness is exactly what Jane needs."

Esther, whose shaken nerves threatened hysterical laughter, made no reply to this, but hurried toward the small figure by the garden gate.

"Oh, Jane!" she called, somewhat shakily.

At her voice, the Shy One stopped kicking holes in the turf with the toes of her new boots and executing a bearlike rush, threw herself into her sister's arms.

"I'm home, Esther! So's mother! And she says I don't have to go to Sunday School. That's why I didn't want to come in. Let's hurry before the minister comes."

"Listen to that!" said Miss Annabel in indignation. "Any one would think my brother was an ogre. Angus! Why, he's gone! I thought he was following us."

"I think Mr. Macnair went into the house."

"Did he? What did I tell you? Perhaps my news surprised him as well as you. I thought he looked as pale as a plate. What do you think?"

"I think it is none of our business."

Miss Annabel gave her a shrewd look. "Perhaps not your business. You don't have to live with him. But I do. Well, good-bye, my dear. Tell your mother," significantly, "that I'll be over to see her soon."

Both girls were relieved that the minister did not leave his study to say good-bye. They breathed more freely and their steps slackened as soon as the corner which hid the manse had been safely passed.

"I've got new boots," began Jane. "See them? And Fred's new dog has got puppies! He calls her Pickles. She got the puppies this morning. Oh! they're darlings! But Fred is horrid. He says he is going to give me one for my own, to make up for Timothy. Just as if anything ever could! I never knew any one so heartless as Fred—except Job."

"Job who?" It was a relief to Esther to let the childish chatter run on.

"Why, Job. Job was just like Fred. When all his wives died and his little children and his cows, he felt bad, but when God gave him more wives and more children and lots of cows he was pleased as Punch. I always thought that so strange of God," in a reflective tone, "but I expect he knew what kind of man Job was and that he didn't have any real feelings. Do you think I ought to take the puppy, Esther? I shouldn't like to be like Job."

"I think there is no danger, dear. But how is mother? Better?"

"Was she sick?" in surprise.

"Her headaches, you know."

"Oh, yes. I don't know whether they are better or not," carelessly. "I didn't see much of mother while we were away. I played all day with Mrs. Bremner's little girl. Except when we went shopping. I think she must be better, for she did such lots of shopping."

Esther smiled. "Not very much, I think, Janie. Shopping takes money."

"But she did! I have lots and lots of new clothes. Only," discontentedly, "most of them don't fit. Mother could never be bothered trying them on. She's got some lovely things, too. Dresses and hats and piles of new shoes and heaps of silk stockings—"

"Jane, why do you say 'lots' and 'piles' and 'heaps' when you know you are exaggerating?"

But there was a note of anxiety in the reproof nevertheless.

"I'm not exaggerating, Esther! She did. Even Miss Bremner asked her what she was going to do with them all."

The elder girl's fingers tightened upon the small hand she held. Her red lips set themselves in a firm line. In face of a danger which she could see and measure Esther had courage enough. And she had faced this particular danger before.

"Mother will tell me all about it, no doubt," she said calmly. "Did she get me something pretty, too?"

"Yes. It's a surprise."

"And when she got all the pretty things I suppose she told the clerks to charge them?"

"Oh, no. She paid for them out of her purse."

Esther was conscious of a swift reaction. The things were paid for. Of course Jane had exaggerated. Children have no sense of value. Some dainty things, Mrs. Coombe was sure to buy; but, as Esther well knew, her slender stock of money would hardly have run to "piles" and "heaps." And of course she had been unjust in fearing that Mary had gone into debt. They had one experience of that kind, an experience which had ended in a solemn promise that it would never happen again. Mary understood the position as well as she did.

As the girl's thought trailed naturally into the problem paths of every day, her weeks of freedom, her new interests, the strange experience in the manse garden seemed already remote. With the little frown of accustomed perplexity slipping in between her straight, black brows, her deeper agitation quieted. The unusual has no antidote so effective as the commonplace.

They found Mrs. Coombe waiting for them on the veranda. Lying back in the shade, in her white dress she looked very much at her ease. Yet a quick observer might have noticed a certain anxiety in the glance she tried to render merely welcoming. She was thinner than she had been; tired lines dragged at the corners of the pouting mouth and dark circles showed plainly through their dusting of pearl powder. Changes which creep in unnoticed when one sees a person every day are startlingly apparent when absence has forced a clearer focus. Esther had known that her step-mother had changed, was changing, but as she bent over her now, the extent of the change shocked her. With a tightening at her heart she wondered what her father would say if he could see the difference wrought by one short year. Pearl powder, lavishly used, is not becoming, especially when it sifts into multitudes of fine lines; nor can powder or anything else brighten a dull, yellowing skin which in health would still be delicately clear and firm.

But the dulled eyes and the faded face were only the symptoms of the real change in Mary Coombe. The thing itself lay deeper. Striving to express a subtlety which would not lend itself to words, Esther had more than once told herself that her mother was "not the same woman." Yet it was only to-day, as she stooped to kiss her, that the startling, literal truth of the phrase struck home. The outside changes were nothing—it was the woman herself who had changed.

"Well, Esther!" The sweet high voice with its impatient note was the same as ever. "Here we are home again. Fancy me forgetting it was Sunday! Wasn't it funny? We met old MacTavish coming up from the station (not a single cab down to meet the train, of course!) and he looked so shocked. Really, this place grows more insufferable every day. It seems to agree with you, though, you're looking awfully well. Amy looks well, too. The new doctor must be something of a wonder."

"He is considered very clever. Aunt Amy is certainly better. Now that you are home you must let him see what he can do for you."

Mrs. Coombe's pouting lips lengthened into a hard line.

"I won't see a doctor. And that's flat."

"Are you feeling better, then?"

As was always the case, her mother's perversity dissipated Esther's sympathy and left her tone cold. It was all the colder probably because just at that moment she had noticed that the simple white frock Mrs. Coombe was wearing was not simple at all. The delicate embroidery on it was all hand work. And French embroidery is no inexpensive trifle. It was probably a new "best" gown; but if so, why had it been worn on the train, why was it soiled in places and carelessly put on? The skirt was not even, the collar, having lost a support, sagged at one side and just below the girdle belt there was a small, jagged rent. Esther noticed these details with vexation and discomfort, for it was part of the change in Mary Coombe that from being one of the most carefully gowned women in town she had become one of the most slovenly. All her natty, pretty, American "style" which the plainer Canadians had sometimes envied was gone. But this—this was worse than usual! The girl's quick eyes travelled downward, noting the increased signs of deterioration with something like distress.

"Why, mother," she exclaimed involuntarily, "there is a hole in your stocking!"

"Is there?" Mary Coombe thrust out a small and elegant foot clad in thinnest silk and shod with pretty slippers not very clean and turning over at the heel.

"Dear me!" she said. "So there is. I need new slippers too. I quite forgot to get any."

"Oh, mother!" Jane's cry was instant. "You got heaps. Tan ones and brown ones and white ones and black ones with silver buckles—"

"Jane!" interrupted Esther, laughing. "Give your imagination a rest."

"But you did, didn't you, mother?"

"Did I? Why, yes—I did buy a few shoes. I had forgotten. The Customs man didn't find them either. Run and fetch me a clean white pair, Jane, and bring down the surprise we got for Esther—see how disapproving she looks. I declare, Esther, it would be just like you to make things disagreeable the moment I get home. I didn't charge a cent, if that's what you're afraid of."

"I knew you wouldn't do that," gravely. "And of course I'm glad you got the things. But I can't see how you managed."

"Oh, sales," vaguely. "Things are so cheap in Detroit and Jessica Bremner is a born shopper. She gets wonderful bargains. Anyway, I got them, and I'm not a cent in debt."

"What's debt?" asked Jane.

"Buying what you can't pay for, Janie."

"Oh, mother paid for everything. I saw her. It's Mrs. Bremner that's in debt, isn't she, mother?"

"Don't be silly, Jane, of course not. Jessica is far better off than we are."

"But she only gave you half the money for the ring. I heard her say—"

"Jane, get those slippers at once."

"I'm going. But Mrs. Bremner said—"

Mrs. Coombe's hand came down with stinging force upon the child's ear.

"Will you obey me—or will you not?"

Jane retired wailing and her mother sank back into her veranda chair, red spots burning through the powder on her cheeks.

Esther sat very still for a moment, and then, without looking at the other, she asked in a low voice:

"What did she mean?"

"How should I know?" fretfully.

"What ring did Mrs. Bremner give you money for? Did—you have to sell one of your rings?"

"Yes, I did."

"Which one?"

"Oh, don't bother me, Esther."

"But I want to know which one."

"It was the big red one!" called Jane from the hallway, where she had waited, safely out of reach.

Mary Coombe sprang up, fury blazing in her eyes, but Jane had fled, and
Esther, cool and capable, was blocking the doorway.

"Sit down, mother. I've got to know about this. What ring does she mean?"

For an instant the older woman hesitated, then with a little shrug she turned back to the chair. The fury had died away as quickly as it had arisen.

"I knew you would be disagreeable," she said. "And you were bound to hear about the ring some time. Jane is the most ungrateful child, and a little tell-tale; the makings of a regular little cat! I'm sure I spent her full share on her, and I've brought you something nice, too. Not that I expect to be thanked for it. Of course I had to have some money. I hadn't a rag to wear, not a rag. And I got everything ready made. It's cheaper. Anyway, I can't stand dressmakers any more. They paw one so. I can't bear to be touched, my wretched nerves! And I remembered the fuss you made about the bills last time. You know you did make a fuss, Esther, as if all your dear father left belonged to you and not to me—"

"But what did you do?"

"I'm telling you, amn't I? I sold the ring, of course."

"Which ring?"

"The ruby ring. It's the only one that is worth anything!"

"You sold Aunt Amy's ring?"

"If you wish to put it that way, yes. I consider it is as much my ring as hers. She is my aunt and it is understood that all her things will come to me. She has lived here ever since I was married and I think it's a funny thing if she can't help me out occasionally. I simply had to have money and the ruby was the only thing worth selling. Good Heavens! Don't look so crazy. One would think I had stolen it!"

"You have."

Again Mrs. Coombe arose; this time without flurry. The little excitement had done her good. The dull eyes were actually sparkling, the sallow cheeks were flushed. She looked just as she used to look in one of her little rages before the great change came.

"That's enough, Esther. I'll take no more from you. I did what seemed to me right. If Amy were in her right mind I should not have had to take the ring, she would have offered it. Under the circumstances I did the only sensible thing. Amy will never discover the loss. I am getting a very good price for it from Jessica Bremner. It is a valuable jewel. She snatched at the chance of getting it."

Behind its whiteness Esther's face seemed to glow with pale flame. "Is it possible that you have forgotten the history of that ring?" she asked. "That it was poor Auntie's engagement ring and that, although she can't remember anything about it, she knows it means something more than life to her. And that she always says that she cannot die without the ruby on her finger?"

Mrs. Coombe looked uncomfortable, but kept her poise.

"It's all rubbish. She'll forget all about it. Dying people don't think of ruby rings. And anyway, she will probably outlive all of us. If not—we can easily divert her attention."

The girl looked at her step-mother in horror, half believing that this must be some cruel joke. The callousness of the words seemed unbelievable. But the reality of them could no longer be doubted and the pale glow died out of her face, leaving it white and hard.

"I do not understand you," she said slowly. "Somehow you do not seem quite—human. But be sure of this, Aunt Amy shall have back her lover's ring. Jane says it has not all been paid for. How much did you receive?"

"I shall not tell you. And I warn you, Esther, not to waste your money.
If you buy it back, I shall sell it again."

They were standing now facing each other. Esther took a step forward and looked down steadily into her step-mother's face. Her own curious eyes were wide open, they looked like blue stars, bright, cold and powerful as flame.

"No! You shall not."

For a space Mary Coombe met that sword-like look, then her weaker will gave way. Her eyes shifted and fell. Her hands began to pluck nervously at the embroidery of her dress. She laughed, a little, affected laugh with no mirth in it, turned and entered the house.