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“Then any one can buy them?” Helen asked, eagerly. “They are for sale to the public–to any one?”

The young woman made note of the customer’s eagerness, but with an unmoved countenance.

“Yes, miss, they are for sale. The ring is four pounds and the watch twenty-five.”

“Twenty-nine pounds!” Helen gasped.

That was more money than she had in the world, but the fact did not distress her, for she had a true artistic disregard for ready money, and the absence of it had never disturbed her. But now it assumed a sudden and alarming value. She had ten pounds in her purse and ten pounds at her studio–these were just enough to pay for a quarter’s rent and the rates, and there was a hat and cloak in Bond Street which she certainly must have. Her only assets consisted of the possibility that some one might soon order a miniature, and to her mind that was sufficient. Some one always had ordered a miniature, and there was no reasonable doubt but that some one would do it again. For a moment she questioned if it would not be sufficient if she bought the ring and allowed the watch to remain. But she recognized that the ring meant more to her than the watch, while the latter, as an old heirloom which had been passed down to him from a great-grandfather, meant more to Philip. It was for Philip she was doing this, she reminded herself. She stood holding his possessions, one in each hand, and looking at the young woman blankly. She had no doubt in her mind that at least part of the money he had received for them had paid for the flowers he had sent to her in Scotland. The certainty of this left her no choice. She laid the ring and watch down and pulled the only ring she possessed from her own finger. It was a gift from Lady Gower. She had no doubt that it was of great value.

“Can you lend me some money on that?” she asked. It was the first time she had conducted a business transaction of this nature, and she felt as though she were engaging in a burglary.

“We don’t lend money, miss,” the girl said, “we buy outright. I can give you twenty-eight shillings for this,” she added.

“Twenty-eight shillings!” Helen gasped. “Why, it is worth–oh, ever so much more than that!”

“That is all it is worth to us,” the girl answered. She regarded the ring indifferently and laid it away from her on the counter. The action was final.

Helen’s hands rose slowly to her breast, where a pretty watch dangled from a bow-knot of crushed diamonds. It was her only possession, and she was very fond of it. It also was the gift of one of the several great ladies who had adopted her since her residence in London. Helen had painted a miniature of this particular great lady which had looked so beautiful that the pleasure which the original of the portrait derived from the thought that she still really looked as she did in the miniature was worth more to her than many diamonds.

But it was different with Helen, and no one could count what it cost her to tear away her one proud possession.

“What will you give me for this?” she asked, defiantly.

The girl’s eyes showed greater interest. “I can give you twenty pounds for that,” she said.

“Take it, please,” Helen begged, as though she feared if she kept it a moment longer she might not be able to make the sacrifice.

“That will be enough now,” she went on, taking out her ten-pound note. She put Lady Gower’s ring back upon her finger and picked up Philip’s ring and watch with the pleasure of one who has come into a great fortune. She turned back at the door.

“Oh,” she stammered, “in case any one should inquire, you are not to say who bought these.”