“Perhaps he is an adventurer,” she replied. “I’m sure I don’t know. Why should one bother to find out about a passing acquaintance? It is enough to know that he is amusing.”
“I’m not so sure of that. He might make off with the jewels when you had your back turned.”
As soon as she had made her jesting denial of her real lover Marian was ashamed of herself. And Danvers’ remark, though a jest, cut her. “What I said about a passing acquaintance was not just or true,” she said impulsively and too warmly. “Mr. Howard is not an adventurer. I admire and like him very much indeed. I’m proud of his friendship.”
Danvers shrugged his shoulders and looked at her suspiciously.
“You saw a good deal of this—this friend of yours?” he demanded, his mouth straightening into a dictatorial line.
At this Marian grew haughty and her eyes flashed: “Why do you ask?” she inquired, her tone dangerously calm.
“Because I have the right to know.” He pointed to the diamond on her third finger.
“Oh—that is soon settled.” Marian drew off the ring and held it out to him. “Really, Teddy, I think you ought to have waited a little longer before insisting so fiercely on your rights.”
“Don’t be absurd, Marian.” Danvers did not take the ring but fixed his eyes upon her face and changed his tone to friendly remonstrance. “You know the ring doesn’t mean anything. It’s your promise that counts. And honestly don’t you think your promise does give me the right to ask you about your new friends when you speak of them, of one of them, in—in such a way?”
“I don’t intend to deceive you,” she said, turning the ring around slowly on her finger. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I suppose the only way to speak is just to speak.”