Heedless of all the Mr. Mitchells in the universe, they walked very slowly to draw out the last exquisite drop of a moment of bliss that, no matter what life had in store, they could never forget. And then for some mystic reason, June’s brain grew incandescent. It became a thing of dew and fire. Ideas formed within it, broke from it, took shape in the ambient air. She might have been treading the upper spaces of Elysium, except that no girl’s feet were ever planted more firmly or more shrewdly upon the pavement of High Street, Crowdham Market.
Four doors from the Unicorn Inn was the most fashionable jeweller’s shop in the town, perhaps for the reason that there was no other; and as they came level with the window a spark flashed from its depths and met an instant answer in the eye of June. Nearly an hour behind the schedule they were now, yet they lingered one moment more, while June drew William’s attention to a coincidence. The vital spark it seemed, owed its being to a gem set in a ring which was almost a replica of the one worn by Miss Babraham in honor of its giver, who of course was a gentleman in the Blues.
“It’s as like Miss Babraham’s engagement ring as one pea is like another pea,” said June in a soft voice.
In the course of their friendship, William had been guilty of many silences of a disgraceful impersonality; and he was now guilty of one more. He glanced at the ring with a wistful eye, sighed a little, and then with slow reluctance moved on. June accompanied him to the very threshold of the Unicorn Inn. And upon its doorstep of all places, within hearing of the Office, wherein lurked Miss Ferris, the landlady’s daughter, he faced about, and then by way of an after-thought, his head apparently still full of Duclaux, began to stammer.
“Miss June if I go back and get that ring will you—will you promise—to—to——?”
Miss Ferris was in the Office; the top of her coiffure was to be seen above the frosted glass. And the Office door was wide open; June, therefore, gave her answer in a very low and gentle voice.
Her answer, for all that, did not lack pith. “If only you’ll cut out the Miss, I’ll wear it like Miss Babraham—on my heart finger.”
LXVI
Back they went to the jeweller’s four doors up. To the expert eye of William, the ring on inspection was so little like Miss Babraham’s that he seemed to have a qualm about buying it. He had a fancy for moonstones and diamonds, but Crowdham Market’s only jeweller did not run to these. June was firm, besides, that the ring in her hand was cheap at nine guineas, and as no one could call it vulgar, it was quite good enough.
William was sure it was nothing like good enough. “But when we get to London, you shall have moonstones and diamonds.”