"That brings to my memory," said he, rising, "a neglected duty. The postilion must take aid to rescue the carriage;" and he marched to the door with his heavy gait and determined mien.
When he was gone I looked across at the lady, but she avoided my eye, embarrassed (I made no doubt) by her husband's arrogant behaviour. And now I recalled that 'twas high time for me to be on my way after this interlude, and I put my hand into my pocket to bring forth a coin wherewith to discharge my reckoning. And I pulled out a handful of guineas. As I was picking out one I heard an exclamation, and raising my eyes, perceived that the lady was staring in astonishment at my hand.
"Where got you that?" she asked in an excitement, pointing with her hand. "Where got you that ring?"
And then to my chagrin I saw that I had pulled out some of the jewellery I had took from Sir Charles. "That?" says I, thinking to gain time. "Why that?"
"The ring I gave my husband," she almost whispered across the table, and her eyes met mine. In them suddenly arose a light of understanding, and of something else commingled. Damme, I am not ashamed to ply the high toby, but there is some matters that do not concern women, and which they do not understand. She turned of a red glow to her neck. "What—you?" she murmured faintly. "It was you?"
And I, like a fool, had never a word, but sat glum and still, staring at her. To look at her it would have seemed that she it was that had took the ring and been discovered.
"Oh, why did you that?" she asked in her low voice. "Was it that you were in need?"
"Faith, no," said I, with a laugh, and never attempting to deny. "There's a plenty of King's pictures to my pockets. But if ye will have it, 'twas his voice annoyed me. I thought 'twas any man's duty and right to take toll of such complacency."
She eyed me sadly, as I hate to be eyed. I can endure the devil's own temper, and a scold's tongue (for I have my own cure for them), but tears, and shining eyes, and melancholy looks—I cannot abide 'em. So says I gruffly,—