Berry was constrained despondently to acknowledge that was logic.
She hit upon an artful conjecture:
"Won't it be unlucky your wearin' of the ring which served me so? Think o' that!"
"It may! it may! it may!" cried Lucy.
"And arn't you rushin' into it, my dear?"
"Mrs. Berry," Lucy said again, "it was this ring. It cannot—it never can be another. It was this. What it brings me I must bear. I shall wear it till I die!"
"Then what am I to do?" the ill-used woman groaned. "What shall I tell my husband when he come back to me, and see I've got a new ring waitin' for him? Won't that be a welcome?"
Quoth Lucy: "How can he know it is not the same; in a plain gold ring?"
"You never see so keen a eyed man in joolry as my Berry!" returned his solitary spouse. "Not know, my dear? Why, any one would know that've got eyes in his head. There's as much difference in wedding-rings as there's in wedding people! Now, do pray be reasonable, my own sweet!"
"Pray, do not ask me," pleads Lucy.