Gwendolen sat up in bed and opened the packet. It was a delicate enameled casket, and inside was a splendid diamond ring with a letter which contained a folded bit of colored paper and these words:
Pray wear this ring when I come at twelve in sign of our betrothal. I enclose a check drawn in the name of Mr. Gascoigne, for immediate expenses. Of course Mrs. Davilow will remain at Offendene, at least for some time. I hope, when I come, you will have granted me an early day, when you may begin to command me at a shorter distance.—Yours devotedly,
H. M. GRANDCOURT.
The check was for five hundred pounds, and Gwendolen turned it toward her mother, with the letter.
“How very kind and delicate!” said Mrs. Davilow, with much feeling. “But I really should like better not to be dependent on a son-in-law. I and the girls could get along very well.”
“Mamma, if you say that again, I will not marry him,” said Gwendolen, angrily.
“My dear child, I trust you are not going to marry only for my sake,” said Mrs. Davilow, deprecatingly.
Gwendolen tossed her head on the pillow away from her mother, and let the ring lie. She was irritated at this attempt to take away a motive. Perhaps the deeper cause of her irritation was the consciousness that she was not going to marry solely for her mamma’s sake—that she was drawn toward the marriage in ways against which stronger reasons than her mother’s renunciation were yet not strong enough to hinder her. She had waked up to the signs that she was irrevocably engaged, and all the ugly visions, the alarms, the arguments of the night, must be met by daylight, in which probably they would show themselves weak. “What I long for is your happiness, dear,” continued Mrs. Davilow, pleadingly. “I will not say anything to vex you. Will you not put on the ring?”
For a few moments Gwendolen did not answer, but her thoughts were active. At last she raised herself with a determination to do as she would do if she had started on horseback, and go on with spirit, whatever ideas might be running in her head.
“I thought the lover always put on the betrothal ring himself,” she said laughingly, slipping the ring on her finger, and looking at it with a charming movement of her head. “I know why he has sent it,” she added, nodding at her mamma.