With a renewed attempt at being master he pointed at the ring which she was still holding within an inch of its finger. “Put that back.”
“I think not.”
“Then if you don’t––”
“Well—what?”
Plunging his hands into the pockets of his coat, he began tearing up and down the room. “Look here, Barbe. This kind of thing can’t possibly go on.”
“Which is what I’m trying to tell you, isn’t it?”
“Very well, then; we can stop it.”
“Certainly—in one way.”
“The way of getting married, with no more shilly-shallying about it.”
“On the principle that if you’re hanging over a precipice the best thing you can do is to fall.”