It was a false pride which kept Adah silent when she knew that Irving Stanley was waiting for her to speak, wondering at her agitated manner.

He was looking at her eyes, her large brown eyes, which dared not meet his, and as he looked a terrible suspicion crept over him.

Involuntarily he felt for her third finger.

It was ringless, and he dropped it suddenly, but with a feeling that he might be unjust, that all were not of his church and creed, he took it again, and said his parting words.

Then, turning to Willie, he smoothed the silken curls, praised the beauty of the sleeping child, and left the room.
Adah knew that he was gone, that she should not see him again, and that, at the very last, there had arisen some misunderstanding, she hardly knew what, for the shock of finding who he was had prevented her from fully comprehending the fact that he had asked her for her husband.