"Drive to Oxford Street, and then come back here, please."
Meanwhile, all unconscious that these two women were watching him, Yorke went into the shop.
"I want to look at some rings," he said to the man who bowed to him with an air of respectful recognition. It happened to be the same man who had served him the other day.
"Fancy rings my lord?"
"No, no," said Yorke, trying to speak in the most ordinary and casual way, and feeling very much as he had felt while procuring the license. "Er—wedding and keeper rings."
"Certainly, my lord," said the man, without the faintest change of countenance, and he placed a couple of trays on the counter.
"What size, my lord?"
Yorke looked up with a start of perplexity.
"Size?" he repeated, vaguely as he mentally called himself an idiot for not having measured Leslie's finger. "Oh, a small size. I don't quite know. Yes quite a small size. Here, I'll take two or three. They're all alike. I suppose!"