‘No, don’t tell me,’ said she faintly. ‘I am already so much flattered by courteous anticipation of my wishes that I ask for nothing more.’
He bowed his head lowly; but his smile was one of triumph, as he thought how, this time at least, he had wounded her.
‘There are some trinkets, Cecil,’ said she coldly, ‘which I have made into a packet, and you will find them on your dressing-table. And—it may save you some discomfort if I say that you need not give yourself trouble to recover the little ring with an opal I once gave you, for I have it now.’
‘May I dare?’
‘You may not dare. Good-bye.’
And she gave her hand; he bent over it for a moment, scarcely touched it with his lips, and turned away.
CHAPTER LXI
A CHANGE OF FRONT
Of all the discomfitures in life there was one which Cecil Walpole did not believe could possibly befall him. Indeed, if it could have been made a matter of betting, he would have wagered all he had in the world that no woman should ever be able to say she refused his offer of marriage.