MERIWEATHER had a distinct shock when Sally showed him her ring. Winslow had given her an enormous emerald.
"So the Wolf has caught you?" he said.
"Well, he's rather a nice wolf, and he has such a lovely den."
"Don't!" sharply. "Sally, I can't believe you are selling yourself."
"Why shouldn't I? Oh, don't preach, Merry. It is the chance of my life—mother says so—Neale's giving a costume dance for me on the eighteenth. You must get well and be there."
"I don't want to be there," his arm was aching and, perhaps, his heart. Sally was his little friend.
"My dear," he said earnestly, "I can't bear to think of it."
"Can't you?" coldly. "You might as well. The deed is done. I shall have the plumes and the coach-and-four, and—"
She stopped there. She couldn't go on. Not with Merry's eyes asking questions.
"Wish me happiness," she said wistfully.
"You know I want you to be happy." He took her hand in a tight grip. "I shall miss my pal."
