"And--it wouldn't be for him if I
were. I don't want to cry for him. I just envy him, that's all."
She leaned her head against Olga's shoulder, rocking a little to and
fro with closed eyes. "Yes," she said at last, "you can help me, Olga,
if you will. That ring on the table, dear,--a ring with rubies--do you
see it?"
"Yes," breathed Olga, holding her very close.
"Then just take it, dear." Muriel's voice was unutterably weary; she
seemed to speak with a great effort. "It belongs to Nick. He gave it
to me once, long ago, in remembrance of something. I want you to give
it back to him, and tell him simply that I prefer to forget."
Olga took up the ring. Her lips were trembling. "Aren't you--aren't
you being nice to Nick any more, Muriel?" she asked in a whisper.
Muriel did not answer.
"Not when you promised?" the child urged piteously.
There was silence. Muriel's face was hidden. Her black hair hung about
her like a cloud, veiling her from her friend's eyes. For a long time
she said nothing whatever. Then at last without moving she made reply.
"It's no use, Olga. I can't! I can't! It's not my doing. It's his.
Oh, I think my heart is broken!" Through the anguish of weeping that
followed, Olga clasped her passionately close, frightened, by an
intensity of suffering such as she had never seen before and was
powerless to alleviate.
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