Immersed in such thoughts, he said little, but from time to time he drew Lena to him and kissed her, not with his former intensity, but with a softening sense of impending farewell. They had come within sight of the towers of St. George's Hall, looming against the pale horizon, when she threw him into sudden panic.
"Tom, dear," she said, "did you know that Miss Wycliffe took away the ring you gave me?"
"Took it away?" he echoed.
"Yes; she said it belonged to her, and that she had lost it in the car. Of course, I had to give it up." After vacillating in delicate hesitation she went on. "I did n't mind losing the ring so very much, since it was really hers, but I was a little hurt that you did n't buy me a ring."
He winced perceptibly, and she hastened to make her peace.
"What a queer old thing it was! I liked it at first because you gave it to me, though it seemed to have an unlucky look, somehow. I 'd much rather have had just a little ring, with a solitary diamond in it."
"Did you tell her where you got it?" he demanded abruptly.
"She asked who gave me the ring, and I told her. But I did n't tell her we were engaged, or anything like that."
"What did you tell her, then?" he persisted.
"Just that you gave me the ring, Tom. Then she told me you must have found it in the car."