"Oh, David, come out here! please come out!" called Letty breathlessly.
"I've got to see you."
David appeared, with some wonderment on his face, and Letty
precipitated herself upon him, mindless of curry-comb and horse-hairs
and the fact that she was presently to do butter. "David," she cried,
"I can't stand it. I've got to tell you. You know this ring?"
David looked at it, interested and yet perplexed.
"Seems if I'd seen you wear it," said he.
Letty gave way, and laughed hysterically.
"Seems if you had!" she repeated. "I've wore it over a year. There
ain't a girl in town but knows it. I showed it to 'em all. I told 'em
'twas my engagement ring."
David looked at it, and then at her. She seemed to him a little mad. He
could quiet the horses, but not a woman, in so vague an exigency.
"What made you tell 'em that?" he asked, at a venture.
"Don't you see? There wasn't one of 'em that was engaged but had a
ring--and presents, David--and they knew I never had anything, or I'd
have showed 'em."
David was not a dull man; he had very sound views on the tariff, and,
though social questions might thrive outside his world, the town
blessed him for an able citizen. But he felt troubled; he was
condemned, and it was the world's voice which had condemned him.
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