“Why do you not open your package, Squire?” asked Annabel.
“Well, young lady, I am not going to act as if your presence was not entertainment enough and to spare.”
“Nonsense! Please do not stand on ceremony with me. It may contain important papers–something relating to Church or State. I am only a young woman. Open it, Squire.”
“Well, then, if you say so, I will open it,” and he began fumbling at the well-tied string. Annabel saw her opportunity. In a moment she had slipped on to the forefinger of her right hand the lost ring, and the next moment she had gently pushed aside the Squire’s hands, and was saying, “Let me unfasten the knots. I am cleverer at that work than you.”
“To be sure you are. There is work little fingers do better than big ones, and this is that kind of a job. But I will get my knife and cut the knots; that is the best and quickest way.”
He began to hunt in his pockets for his knife, but could not find it. “Dobson never does put things where they ought to be,” he said fretfully; and then he pulled the bell-rope for Dobson with a force that fully indicated his annoyance. In the mean time, Annabel was quietly untying the string, and the Squire naturally watched her efforts. He was complaining and scolding his servant and his womenkind, and Annabel did not heed him; but when he suddenly stopped speaking, in the middle of a sentence, she looked into his face. It expressed the blankest wonder and curiosity. His eyes were fixed upon her hands, and he would probably have asked her some inconvenient question if Dobson had not entered at the moment. Then Annabel retired. Dobson had taken the parcel in charge, and she excused herself from further delay.
“I have several things to do,” she said, “and I shall only be in the way of the parcel and its contents. Tell Mrs. Atheling and Kate that I called, will you, Squire?”
“To be sure! To be sure, Miss Vyner,” he answered; but his eyes were on the papers Dobson was unfolding, and his mind was vaguely wandering to the ring he had seen on her finger. When he had satisfied his curiosity concerning the papers, his thoughts returned with persistent wonder to it. “I’ll wager my best hunter, yes, I’ll wager Flying Selma that was the ring I bought in Venice and gave to Maude. How did that girl get it? Maude would never sell it or give it away. Never! Dal it! there is something queer in her having it. I must find out how it comes to pass.”
When he arrived at this decision Mrs. Atheling came into the room. She was rosy and smiling, and put aside with sweet good nature the Squire’s complaints about both her and Kitty being out of the house when he was in it. “Not a soul to say a word to me, or to see that I had a bit of comfortable eating,” he said in a tone of injury.
“Never mind, John!”