She need not worry; she
need not weep scalding tears on his account. So she had jilted him; she
returned his ring. What of it? But why had she dragged the ring all the
way up to Torahus? Why hadn't she simply left it on his desk and saved the
postage? Good-bye; good riddance! Go to the devil with your silk-lined
deceiver, and never let me hear of you again!...
He wrung his hands in anguish and paced back and forth with long, furious
strides. He would take it like a man. He would fling his own ring in her
face and end the comedy quickly. He stopped at the desk and tore the ring
off his finger, wrapped it up, and put it in an envelope. He wrote the
address in large, brutal letters; his hand trembled violently. Somebody
knocked. He flung the letter into a drawer and closed it hastily.
It was one of his clerks who came to remind him that it was late. Should
he close up?
"Yes, close up. But wait; I am through now; I am going, too. Bring me the
keys."
Nobody should be able to say that he broke down because of a shabby trick
like this. He would show people that he could keep his composure. He might
go to the Grand and celebrate his return with a plain glass of beer! That
would be just the thing.
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