“Not in the least.” He took a box from his pocket with an air of resignation which boded well for the trials of a diplomatic career. “I cannot wait longer to fetter you. You told me once that the emerald was your favourite stone.”
She relaxed her lips and swept her lashes down and up rapturously. “So good of you to remember,” she murmured; “it reminds me of mermaids and things, and I love it.”
“You were always so poetical! But where did you get that ring? I thought you never wore rings. On your engagement finger, too!”
“It was a present from grandma, and I wear it to please her. I’ll slip it in my pocket now—it is too large for any other finger—and you can put yours where it belongs.”
“You will never take it off until you need its place for your wedding-ring?”
“Never!”
“Angel! And your face is better?”
“Yes; but Edith is looking directly this way.”
SCENE III
Mrs. Pendleton entered the drawing-room on tiptoe, with hand upraised.