“What an absurd idea, Mr. Heigham! Why, George looks upon matrimony as an institution of the evil one. He admires Angela, I know—he always does admire a pretty face; but as for dreaming of marrying a girl half his age and his own cousin into the bargain, it is about the last thing that he would do.”
“I am glad to hear it. I am sure I have been uncomfortable enough thinking about him sometimes. Lady Bellamy, will you do something for me?”
“What is that, Mr. Heigham?”
“Tell Angela all about me.”
“But would that be quite honourable, Mr. Heigham—under the conditions of your engagement, I mean?”
“You never promised not to talk about me; I only promised not to attempt verbal or written communication with Angela.”
“Well, I will tell her that I met you, and that you are well, and, if Philip will allow me, I will tell her more; but of course I don’t know if he will or not. What ring is that you wear?”
“It is one that Angela gave me when we became engaged. It was her mother’s.”
“Will you let me look at it?”
Arthur held out his hand. The ring was an antique, a large emerald, cut like a seal and heavily set in a band of dull gold. On the face of the stone were engraved some mysterious characters.