"How fine and transparent," he said. "I can see every vein. Such a hand ought to be covered with jewels."
She was of the same opinion herself. Then he drew off the diamond ring that shone like flame on his own finger; he looked entreatingly at her.
"I wonder," he said, "if you will be angry? This was my mother's ring, and I prize it more than I do anything in the wide world. I am afraid. Promise me you will not be angry."
It was, to say the least of it, a great stretch of imagination. Lord Charles Vivianne would never have troubled himself to have worn his mother's ring; but even he, bold and adventurous as he was, thought some little preamble necessary before he offered her so valuable a gift.
"There is a strange, sad love-story connected with it," he said, "which I will tell you some day; but it is dear to me, because it was my mother's ring." Then he drew it from his finger. "I should like to see how it looks on that pretty white hand of yours," he said, laughingly; and, as he spoke, he drew the ring on her finger.
It shone and glanced like fire; the sunbeams seemed to concentrate themselves on it; and, certainly, the beautiful white hand looked the lovelier for the ring. He looked at it admiringly.
"You were born to wear jewels," he said. "You ought never to be without them."
She laughed with the faintest tinge of bitterness.
"I do not see from whom I am to get them," she said.
"As my wife you could get them, and everything that your heart could wish. Think of it, and compare a life of ease and luxury with your dull existence here. You will let me see you again? I have so much to say to you."