So his passenger had been the much-talked-about Edith Towne—deserted at the moment of her marriage!

He thought of her eyes of burning blue,—the fairness of her skin and hair—the touch of haughtiness. Simms was a cur, of course! He should have knelt at her feet!

The thing to do was to get the bag back to her. He must advertise at once. On the wings of this decision, his car whirled down the Avenue. The lines which, after much deliberation, he pushed across the counter of the newspaper office, would be ambiguous to others, but clear to her. “Will passenger who left bag with valuable contents in Ford car call up Sherwood Park 49.”

[34]

CHAPTER III JANE KNITS

“Is she really as beautiful as that?” Jane demanded.

“Is

“As what?”

“Her picture in the paper.”

“Haven’t I said enough for you to know it?”

Jane nodded. “Yes. But it doesn’t sound real to me. Are you sure you didn’t dream it?”

“I’ll say I didn’t. Isn’t that the proof?” The gray bag lay on the table in front of them, the ring was on Jane’s finger.

She turned it to catch the light. “Baldy,” she said, “it’s beyond imagination.”

“I told you——”

“Think of having a ring like this——”

“Think,” fiercely, “of having a lover who ran away.”

“Well,” said Jane, “there are some advantages in being—unsought. I’m like the Miller-ess of Dee—

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