Pauline had disappeared on a murmured pretext. Lord Court took the slender white hand in his.
“It wants no rings to enhance its beauty,” he said, with a smile; “but Pauline is right—you must do as others do, and wear some to guard this band of gold. I have two that will please you, I think, my darling—two I have intended giving you for the past week.”
He touched a small spring in the case and disclosed a little drawer. In this two rings were lying; he took them out.
“This hoop of diamonds, Margery,” he said, gently, “was my mother’s; it is old-fashioned now, and perhaps——”
“Let me wear it,” she whispered, hurriedly.
In silence he slipped the circlet over the tiny finger, then pressed his lips to it.
“This one you know”—taking up the other. “You have seen it often—the sapphires will match your eyes, sweet—it was Enid’s ring.”
Tears sprung to Margery’s eyes as she looked at the glistening stones, and remembered how often she had seen them flashing on the frail, white hand of the dead girl.
“They are sacred to me—I shall treasure them both,” she said, reverently, then turned aside with trembling lips.
Pauline returned in two minutes, and the jewels were restored to their cases and packed in their iron-bound box for the journey.