“Mr. Boswell,” she said, “I believe this belongs to you;” and she handed the ring to the stupefied author. He put it in his pocket with never a word.
She raised the emerald. “Mr. Trent, this is yours?—or is it the sapphire?”
“‘Well, why don’t you go?’”
“The emerald,” snorted Trent.
She dropped it in his nerveless palm with a gracious bend of the head, and turned to Teddy.
“You gave me a solitaire, I remember,” she said sweetly. “A most appropriate gift, for it is the ideal life.”
Teddy looked as if about to burst into tears, gave her one beseeching glance, then took his ring and strode feebly over the cliffs. Trent and Boswell hesitated a moment, then hurried after.
Jessica held the casket to Severance, with a little outward sweep of her wrist. He took it and, folding his arms, looked at her steadily. A tide of angry colour rose to her hair, then she turned her back upon him and looking out over the water tapped her foot on the rocks.