"You like sapphires?" he questioned.
"Of course," she returned. Her tone was resolutely indifferent, yet something in his look made her avert her eyes abruptly. She turned them upon the ring. "Why did you choose a sapphire?" she said.
If she expected some compliment in reply she was disappointed. He stood in silence.
Half-startled she glanced at him. In the same moment he held out his hand to her with a formal gesture of leave-taking.
"I will tell you another time," he said. "Good night!"
She gave him her hand, but he scarcely held it. The next instant, with a brief bow, he had turned and left her.
CHAPTER IV
Burleigh Wentworth looked around him with a frown of discontent.
He ought to have been in good spirits. Life on the moors suited him. The shooting was excellent, the hospitality beyond reproach. But yet he was not satisfied. People had wholly ceased to eye him askance. He had come himself to look back upon his trial as a mere escapade. It had been an unpleasant experience. He had been a fool to run such a risk. But it was over, and he had come out with flying colours, thanks to Percival Field's genius. A baffling, unapproachable sort of man—Field! The affair of his marriage was still a marvel to Wentworth. He had a strong suspicion that there was more in the conquest than met the eye, but he knew he would never find out from Field.