But it suddenly occurred to the two that trains did not wait for lovers’ long loitering, and with one accord they went to work. Celia of course had very little preparation to make. Her trunk was probably in Chicago and would need to be wired for. Gordon attended to that the first thing, looking up the number of the check and ordering it back to New York by telegraph. Turning from the telephone he rang for the man and asked Celia to give the order for lunch while he got together some things that he must take with him. A stay of several weeks would necessitate a little more baggage than he had taken to New York.
He went into the bedroom and began pulling out things to pack but when Celia turned from giving her directions she found him standing in the bedroom doorway with an old-fashioned velvet jewel case in his hand which he had just taken from the little safe in his room. His face wore a wonderful tender light as if he had just discovered something precious.
“Dear,” he said, “I wonder if you will care for these. They were mother’s. Perhaps this ring will do until I can buy you a new one. See if it will fit you. It was my mother’s.”
He held out a ring containing a diamond of singular purity and brilliance in quaint old-fashioned setting.
Celia put out her hand with its wedding ring, the ring that he had put upon her finger at the altar, and he slipped the other jewelled one above it. It fitted perfectly.
“It is a beauty,” breathed Celia, holding out her hand to admire it, “and I would far rather have it than a new one. Your dear little mother!”
“There’s not much else here but a little string of pearls and a pin or two. I have always kept them near me. Somehow they seemed like a link between me and mother. I was keeping them for—” he hesitated and then giving her a rare smile he finished:
“I was keeping them for you.”
Her answering look was eloquent, and needed no words which was well, for Henry appeared at that moment to serve luncheon and remind his master that his train left in a little over two hours. There was no further time for sentiment.
And yet, these two, it seemed, could not be practical that day. They idled over their luncheon and dawdled over their packing, stopping to look at this and that picture or bit of bric-a-brac that Gordon had picked up in some of his travels; and Henry finally had to take things in his own hands, pack them off and send their baggage after them. Henry was a capable man and rejoiced to see the devotion of his master and his new mistress, but he had a practical head and knew where his part came in.