CHAPTER LIII. — SLIGO MOULTRIE vice ABEL NEWT.
Abel Newt had now had two distinct warnings of something which nobody knew must happen so well as he. He dined sumptuously that very day, and dressed very carefully that evening, and at eight o’clock was sitting alone with Grace Plumer. The superb ruby was on her finger. But on the third finger of her left hand he saw a large glowing opal. His eyes fastened upon it with a more brilliant glitter. They looked at her too so strangely that Grace Plumer felt troubled and half alarmed. “Am I too late?” he thought.
“Miss Grace,” said Abel, in a low voice.
The tone was significant.
“Mr. Newt,” said she, with a half smile, as if she accepted a contest of badinage.
“Do you remember I said I was perfectly happy?”
He moved his chair a little nearer to hers. She drew back almost imperceptibly.
“I remember you said so, and I was very glad to hear it.”