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The long gold chain that swung below her waist, the big diamond on her finger, the gold mesh-purse all the jewelry she took such a childlike delight in wearing she remembered them in terror. She was no brown-clad little working-girl now, to slip along disregarded. And the tramp did not look like a deserving object.
His eyes were mere pin-points, with a sort of red glare far back in them; his mouth was like a dirty red muzzle. He was a prowling tramp, of the worst sort. Involuntarily he stopped in his tracks as I faced him, his hands hanging loosely at his sides. His eyes swept greedily over me silver mesh-purse, wrist-watch, the brooch at my throat, the rings on my fingers.
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