“I’ll wait.” he whispered, “if you wish it.”
“I do wish it. Take no notice of what I say or do. Promise me that.”
“Promise me you will not make me jealous, and I’ll wait.”
“But maybe I shall make you jealous,” she said. “Still, you know me. Wait.”
“I’m sorry for one thing, Mr Girtle,” said Paul Capel, while this was going on.
“May I ask what that is?”
“Oh, yes. Your simple bequest of a ring. Will you—you will not be offended, Mr Girtle—out of this immense wealth allow me to make you some suitable—”
“Stop,” said the old gentleman, laying his hand upon the speaker’s arm. “My old friend wished to leave me a large sum, but I chose that ring in preference. Thank you all the same, my dear young friend, and I beg you will count upon me for help.”
“Well, then, there is something I should like to do at once. Look here, Mr Girtle—a million and a half—”
“With its strange burden.”