"Well, make haste and get it off, Mr. Tweddle, do," said Ada, impatiently. "I've stayed out quite long enough."
"In one moment," he replied; "it's quite a job, I declare, quite a job!"
"Oh, you men are so clumsy!" cried Ada. "Let me try."
"No, no!" he said, rather irritably; "I can manage it," and he continued to fumble.
At last he looked over his shoulder and said, "It's a singler succumstance, but I can't get the ring past the bend of the finger."
Ada was cruel enough to burst out laughing. "It's a judgment upon you, Mr. Tweddle!" she cried.
"You dared me to it!" he retorted. "It isn't friendly of you, I must say, Miss Parkinson, to set there enjoying of it—it's bad taste!"
"Well, then, I'm very sorry, Mr. Tweddle; I won't laugh any more; but, for goodness' sake, take me back to the Hall now."
"It's coming!" he said; "I'm working it over the joint now—it's coming quite easily."
"But I can't wait here while it comes," she said. "Do you want me to go back alone? You're not very polite to me this evening, I must say."