It was to ask the price, I knew. I was seized with that ineradicable feeling of distress that claims a woman under any circumstances whatsoever—when mention is made of payment for her, by another. She loves to be paid for—with all thought of price ignored. So I rose and turned to bend over another glass counter under which gleamed pendants of pearls and emeralds—which I scarcely saw, for another couple had strayed into the shop—a plainish girl, simply and rather dowdily dressed; a man like dozens of others—and they interested me. Their two faces were as radiant as if they had come into a fortune sufficient to buy up the whole of Gemmer’s six times over, but I heard the girl whisper, awe-struck and ecstatic, “Oh, Harry, no! I won’t let you! It’s absurd, for people like us.” ...
“People like us aren’t going to be married every day! Considering I nearly wrecked my constitution and made myself unspeakably ill-tempered by giving up smoking for eight months,” growled the young man, “just to save up enough to be absurd, you won’t catch me wasting it on being sensible.”
“I’ll write you out the cheque now, and wait while you ring up my bank, then,” the Governor’s voice was saying; then came purrs from Mr. Levi Smarm, of “Shall not detain you a moment, sir ... Thank you, sir; perfectly all right. Much obliged. Good afternoon, sir” (with a bend to the waist). “Good afternoon, madam” (with an even lower bend). Then he turned the eyes and teeth and curls on the young couple who had saved up to be “absurd.” I wondered whether he would notice the difference between them and—his last customers. Probably. Ah, but he could hardly be expected to know quite what it was!
“I hope,” said Mr. Waters, civilly, on our way back to the office, “that that little Hebrew bounder didn’t annoy you. That sort of thing is all part of his business, you understand.”
“Of course I understand,” said I submissively.
“I am glad you—didn’t mind it,” said Mr. Waters.
I longed to be able to retort, “Mind? Why on earth should I? Please try to understand that there’s no reason I need ‘mind,’ any more than one of those curved white velvet stands at Gemmer’s should mind whose hand clasps and unclasps the necklace of amethysts and peridots that it displays. I’m quite content to let my finger be a ‘stand,’ to show off these diamonds, for which—for some unexplained reason—you’ve got to pay someone to be the ‘official’ wearer! All I ‘mind’ is the way you do these things—it’s clumsy beyond belief!”
One comfort that remains to me is that I need only wear this hateful ring of his while I am on show—and not at other times.
No tightly-corseted Victorian has ever so longed to be alone in her bedroom again and undo her torturing case of whalebone and coutil as I shall long to get away, every time I’m wearing this “engagement” ring—to the mere pleasure of taking it off!