Roger had been beaming in a gratified fashion, but at her question his jaw dropped.
"Well," he began. "Well—I——"
His expression struck her.
"Do you mind my asking? It's only because it is so exactly what I've always longed to give Clare. I'm saving. I'm going to, some day. Clare loves emeralds."
"Perhaps," said Roger, with elaborate irony, "you'd like to give her this? Don't mind me."
She glanced up at him, startled, puzzled.
"This?"
"It happens to be your engagement ring," he remarked offendedly.
Alwynne began to laugh, but a trifle uncertainly. To laugh without accompaniment or encouragement is uneasy work, and Roger's face was entirely expressionless. She felt that her laughter was sounding affected, and ceased abruptly, her foot tapping the floor, a glint of annoyance in her eye.
"What are you talking about?" she attacked him.