He seemed puzzled by that answer; stammered, and said:
“I didn't know your sister had a baby. A jolly baby.”
“She hasn't.”
Lauder's mouth opened. 'A silly mouth,' she thought.
“Oh!” he said. “Is it a protegee—Belgian or something?”
“No, it's mine; my own.” And, turning round, she slipped the little ring off her finger. When she turned back to him, his face had not recovered from her words. It had a hapless look, as of one to whom such a thing ought not to have happened.
“Don't look like that,” said Noel. “Didn't you understand? It's mine-mine.” She put out her left hand. “Look! There's no ring.”
He stammered: “I say, you oughtn't to—you oughtn't to—!”
“What?”
“Joke about—about such things; ought you?”