This was one of the many instances that rose to her mind as she sat there sewing, choking down the lump in her throat, while Egidio flashed the ruby admiringly in the ray of the lamp. When times were hard, she had understood his economies, but now that they were prosperous, that there was no need for it! She did not understand that certain meannesses were ingrained in his character, as were certain generosities—that it was as much a part of his nature to stint her in handkerchiefs and stockings as it was to bestow costly jewels upon her—yet, the key to it was simple, the one redounded publicly to his credit, the other was unknown except to himself and to her. She had long ago lost any feeling of gratitude towards him, he had shown her all too clearly what personal motives had actuated him at the time of their marriage, and his attempts to throw the onus of the transaction on her, caused her a bitter amusement; they revealed so plainly the innate selfishness of him, his desire to divest himself of responsibility, and yet to claim gratitude, where according to his own showing, it least was due!
"Your friends will admire this ring," said Valentini, "but I must beg of you, Ragna, not to give it away. The things I buy for you I do not intend to let pass out of the family." This because she had once sent a small and not particularly valuable brooch he had given her, to her sister Ingeborg, much to the latter's pleasure and surprise, though Fru Boyesen had sniffed when the gift was shown her.
"Why don't you answer?" demanded Valentini, "you might at least attend to what I say. When I give you a thing it is for yourself, not for others."
"But if it should please me better to give it to a sister whom I love, than to wear it myself?"
"You have no right to squander my property or my gifts."
"Very well," said Ragna wearily, "I have not the slightest intention of giving the ring away."
They relapsed into silence and Egidio read the evening paper. The rustling of the pages grated so on her nerves that she thought she must scream and she jerked her needle in and out till the thread snapped. Generally she took but little interest in the local news, but to-night, when Egidio laid the paper on the table, she took it up, and in turning the pages over, her eye fell by chance on the list of names of travellers stopping at the large hotels. An involuntary exclamation rose to her lips as the name "Count Angelescu" stared at her from the printed column.
"What is it?" inquired Egidio suspiciously.
"Nothing—I have pricked my finger—" She still held her sewing crushed in her left hand.
He turned again to the design he was making on the back of an old envelope.