"Our betrothal," he answered, dreamily, as one who has set his lips to a philter.
"Betrothal? Yes. I didn't know what a strange sound the word had. We must exchange rings. Oh, Fate, be kind to us!" She lifted up her face as she drew off the ring she wore. "You needn't be afraid to be kind. We are honest people. We'll keep faith. Ethan," she whispered, "they can't grudge us so little as we ask."
"The powers that be?"
She nodded.
"You said yourself that what we ask is more than many men and women find. A year with you"—he gathered her up to his breast—"a whole year of beautiful life and beautiful love without fear of the long decline! It's a dream to draw the very gods out of their heaven. Oh, be sure they'll be jealous of you and me."
He kissed her again and again.
"We mustn't let them be jealous. Where's your ring?"
He drew off his signet, and took from her the little old band set with pearls and two small rubies.
"Too little for me," he said, "and too—"
He smiled at the obvious femininity of the old trinket.