"I'm sorry," Jean said simply. "But I meant just what I said. The country is new to you and you're new to the country, and we can't be married till you find yourself. It wouldn't be fair to either of us. I'm putting it up to you to make good, Billy."
Chetwood nodded soberly, but his eyes smiled.
"I'll make good," he said. "I'll go and see this Judge Riley—about a homestead. And now, Jean darling, will you oblige me by the size of that pretty little third finger."
"You are not to spend any money on rings. Keep it for the homestead."
"Oh da—er—I mean high heaven hates a piker. Can't allow you to go ringless. It's not done, really. I'm going to have my own way. Nothing elaborate. Just a simple, little ring, costing, say, fifty pounds—"
"Fifty pounds!" Jean gasped. "Two hundred and fifty dollars! Why, I couldn't—"
"Does sound more in dollars. Tell you what I'll do. I have a ring at home. It belonged to my mother. I'll send for it if you don't mind."
"I should be proud of your mother's ring," said Jean.
"I think," said Chetwood, "that she would be proud to have you wear it."
"Billy," said Jean, "that's just the nicest thing you ever said—or ever will say."