“I deserve it.”
“Don’t be absurd,” said Quentillian, with severity. “This is that foolish idea of atonement and repentance—and all the other cheap salves to the humiliation of having made a mistake. Don’t you see that it’s all waste of time and energy, Val? You ought to be thinking of what you’re going to do next, and how you can do it with least wear and tear for us all. Life isn’t a series of sins and punishments or virtues and rewards, as it is in one’s nursery story-books. There are actions and their consequences—that’s all.”
She looked up at him, bewildered, and yet slightly relieved at perceiving that he still possessed the power of sententiousness.
“Only say you forgive me, Owen.”
“If you wish it, my dear, of course. Please don’t cry any more.”
Valeria, however, crying more than ever, drew the sapphire and diamond ring from her finger and mutely held it out to him.
Owen gazed at it for a moment through his pince-nez.
Then he put it gently back into her hand again, and closed her fingers round it with his own.
“Please, Val.”
Still holding her hand, he bent forward and very softly kissed her wet cheek.