The Turquoise Ring

by Kate Douglas Wiggin

　　Stephen stood absolutely still in front of the opening in thetrees, and as Rose turned she met him face to face. She hadnever dreamed his eyes could be so stern, his mouth so hard, andshe gave a sob like a child.

　　"You seem to be in trouble," Stephen said in a voice so cold shethought it could not be his.

　　"I am not in trouble, exactly," Rose stammered, concealing herdiscomfiture as well as possible. "I am a little unhappy becauseI have made some one else unhappy; and now that you know it, youwill be unhappy too, and angry besides, I suppose, though you'veseen everything there was to see."

　　"There is no occasion for sorrow, Stephen said. "I didn't meanto break in on any interview; I came over to give you back yourfreedom. If you ever cared enough for me to marry me, the timehas gone by. I am willing to own that I over-persuaded you, butI am not the man to take a girl against her inclinations, so wewill say good-by and end the thing here and now. I can only wish--here his smothered rage at fate almost choked him--"that,when you were selecting another husband, you had chosen a wholeman!"

　　Rose quivered with the scorn of his tone. "Size isn'teverything!" she blazed.

　　"Not in bodies, perhaps; but it counts for something in heartsand brains, and it is convenient to have a sense of honor that'sat least as big as a grain of mustard-seed."

　　"Claude Merrill is not dishonorable," Rose exclaimed impetuously;"or at least he isn't as bad as you think: he has never askedme to marry him."

　　"Then he probably was not quite ready to speak, or perhaps youwere not quite ready to hear," retorted Stephen, bitterly; "butdon't let us have words,--there'll be enough to regret withoutadding those. I have seen, ever since New Year's, that you werenot really happy or contented; only I wouldn't allow it tomyself: I kept hoping against hope that I was mistaken. Therehave been times when I would have married you, willing orunwilling, but I didn't love you so well then; and now thatthere's another man in the case, it's different, and I'm strongenough to do the right thing. Follow your heart and be happy; ina year or two I shall be glad I had the grit to tell you so.Good-by, Rose!"

　　Rose, pale with amazement, summoned all her pride, and drawingthe turquoise engagement ring from her finger, handed it silentlyto Stephen, hiding her face as he flung it vehemently down theriver-bank. His dull eyes followed it and half uncomprehendinglysaw it settle and glisten in a nest of brown pine-needles. Thenhe put out his hand for a last clasp and strode away without aword.

　　Presently Rose heard first the scrape of his boat on the sand,then the soft sound of his paddles against the water, thennothing but the squirrels and the woodpeckers and the thrushes,then not even these,--nothing but the beating of her own heart.

　　She sat down heavily, feeling as if she were wide awake for thefirst time in many weeks. How had things come to this pass withher?

　　Claude Merrill had flattered her vanity and given her somemoments of restlessness and dissatisfaction with her lot; but hehad not until to-day really touched her heart or tempted her,even momentarily, from her allegiance to Stephen. His eyes hadalways looked unspeakable things; his voice had seemed to breathefeelings that he had never dared put in words; but to-day he hadreally stirred her, for although he had still been vague, it waseasy to see that his love for her had passed all bounds ofdiscretion. She remembered his impassioned farewells, hisdespair, his doubt as to whether he could forget her by plunginginto the vortex of business, or whether he had better end it allin the river, as so many other broken-hearted fellows had done.She had been touched by his misery, even against her betterjudgment; and she had intended to confess it all to Stephensometime, telling him that she should never again acceptattentions from a stranger, lest a tragedy like this shouldhappen twice in a lifetime.

　　She had imagined that Stephen would be his large-minded,great-hearted, magnanimous self, and beg her to forget thisfascinating will-o'the-wisp by resting in his deeper, serenerlove. She had meant to be contrite and faithful, praying nightlythat poor Claude might live down his present anguish, of whichshe had been the innocent cause.

　　Instead, what had happened? She had been put altogether in thewrong. Stephen had almost cast her off, and that, too, withoutargument. He had given her her liberty before she had asked forit, taking it for granted, without question, that she desired tobe rid of him. Instead of comforting her in her remorse, orsympathizing with her for so nobly refusing to shine in Claude'slarger world of Boston, Stephen had assumed that she was disloyalin every particular.

　　And pray how was she to cope with such a disagreeable andcomplicated situation?

　　It would not be long before the gossips rolled under theirtongues the delicious morsel of a broken engagement, and sooneror later she must brave the displeasure of her grandmother.

　　And the little house--that was worse than anything. Her tearsflowed faster as she thought of Stephen's joy in it, of hisfaithful labor, of the savings he had invested in it. She hatedand despised her self when she thought of the house, and for thefirst time in her life she realized the limitations of hernature, the poverty of her ideals.

　　What should she do? She had lost Stephen and ruined his life.Now, in order that she need not blight a second career, must shecontrive to return Claude's love! To be sure, she thought, itseemed indecent to marry any other man than Stephen, when theyhad built a house together, and chosen wall-papers, and a kitchenstove, and dining-room chairs; but was it not the only way toevade the difficulties?

　　Suppose that Stephen, in a fit of pique, should ask somebody elseto share the new cottage?

　　As this dreadful possibility came into view, Rose's sobs actuallyfrightened the birds and the squirrels. She paced back and forthunder the trees, wondering how she could have been engaged to aman for eight months and know so little about him as she seemedto know about Stephen Waterman to-day. Who would have believedhe could be so autocratic, so severe, so unapproachable! Whocould have foreseen that she, Rose Wiley, would ever be given upto another man,--handed over as coolly as if she had been abale of cotton? She wanted to return Claude Merrill's lovebecause it was the only way out of the tangle; but at the momentshe almost hated him for making so much trouble, for hurtingStephen, for abasing her in her own eyes, and, above all, forgiving her rustic lover the chance of impersonating an injuredemperor.

　　It did not simplify the situation to have Mite Shapley come induring the evening and run upstairs, uninvited, to sit on thetoot of her bed and chatter.

　　Rose had closed her blinds and lay in the dark, pleading aheadache.

　　Mite was in high feather. She had met Claude Merrill going tothe station that afternoon. He was much too early for the train,which the station agent reported to be behind time, so he hadasked her to take a drive. She didn't know how it happened, forhe looked at his watch every now and then; but, anyway, they gotto laughing and "carrying on," and when they came back to thestation the train had gone. Wasn't that the greatest joke ofthe season? What did Rose suppose they did next?

　　Rose didn't know and didn't care; her head ached too badly.

　　Well, they had driven to Wareham, and Claude had hired a liveryteam there, and had been taken into Portland with his trunk, andshe had brought Mrs. Brooks's horse back to Edgewood. Wasn'tthat ridiculous? And hadn't she cut out Rose where she leastexpected?

　　Rose was distinctly apathetic, and Mite Shapley departed after avery brief call, leaving behind her an entirely new train ofthought.

　　If Claude Merrill were so love-blighted that he could only by thegreatest self-control keep from flinging himself into the river,how could he conceal his sufferings so completely from MiteShapley,--little shallow-pated, scheming coquette?

　　"So that pretty Merrill feller has gone, has he, mother?"inquired Old Kennebec that night, as he took off his wet shoesand warmed his feet at the kitchen oven. "Well, it ain't a mitetoo soon. I allers distrust that pink-an'-white, rosy-posy kindof a man. One of the most turrible things that ever happened inGard'ner was brought about by jest sech a feller. Mothers hedn'thardly ought to name their boy babies Claude without theyexpect 'em to play the dickens with the girls. I don' knownothin' 'bout the fust Claude, there ain't none of 'em in theBible, air they, but whoever he was, I bate ye he hed a deceivin'tongue. If it hedn't be'n for me, that Claude in Gard'ner would'a' run away with my brother's fust wife; an' I'll tell ye jesthow I contrived to put a spoke in his wheel."

　　But Mrs. Wiley, being already somewhat familiar with thecircumstances, had taken her candle and retired to her virtuouscouch.