"You would better put your engagement and wedding rings back on," he said. "Of course I realize now that you must have taken them off when you removed your gloves in the restaurant, with the thought that you did not want to spoil my dinner by telling me of your marriage. But you must have them on when you meet your husband, you know."
How like Jack, putting aside his own suffering to be sure of my welfare. I put my hand in my muff, drew out my mesh bag and opened it.
"Jack!" I gasped, horror-stricken, "my rings are gone!"
"Impossible!" His face was white. He snatched my mesh bag from my grasp. "Where did you put them? In here?"
Jack turned the mesh bag inside out. A handkerchief, a small coin purse, two or three bills of small denominations, an envelope with a tiny powder puff—these were all.
"Are you sure you put them in here?"
"Yes." I could hardly articulate the word, I was so frightened.
"Have you opened your bag since?"
I thought a moment. Had I? Then a rush of remembrance came to me.
"I took out a handkerchief when I cried in the restaurant."