“Why do you not ask me for it?” she said.
“It is not yours to return,” I replied.
I remember at this she laughed scornfully and drew the ring from her finger and looked at it.
“I do not think you will ever wear this again,” she went on. “It has been altered to fit my hand. And though an inexpensive trifle it is a pretty ornament—which I should not consent to part with.”
“Since it fits you, you had better wear it,” I remarked. “It was lost fairly, and, as I understand, can only be returned on one condition. As that condition is an impossibility it is much more yours than mine, and I may congratulate you upon the rearrangement of the centre setting.”
“What was it that ever made you relinquish your right to it?” she asked.
“Since you are wearing it you must know,” I answered.
“Not the entire facts,” said she. “Now, tell it me as a story and I will listen carefully.”
“I should speak as a prejudiced narrator,” I declared. “You had better ask Plucritus.”
“But he would speak as a prejudiced narrator too.”