As she glanced down at her ring, her eyes burned with a softened fire.
She had allowed Beaton to change it himself from the finger where she had worn it to the finger on which he said she ought to wear it.

She did not know whether it was right to let him, but she was glad she had done it.
"Who?
Mr.Fulkerson, goosie-poosie! Not that old stuckup Mr.Beaton of yours!" "He is proud," assented Christine, with a throb of exultation.
Beaton and Fulkerson went to the Elevated station with the Marches; but the painter said he was going to walk home, and Fulkerson let him go alone.
"One way is enough for me," he explained.

"When I walk up, I don't walk down.

Bye-bye, my son!" He began talking about Beaton to the Marches as they climbed the station stairs together.

"That fellow puzzles me.
I don't know anybody that I have such a desire to kick, and at the same time that I want to flatter up so much.