“Great Scott! Why I—she—it’s only her way! She’s impulsive, affectionate with people she likes, even when they’re only casual acquaintances like myself. The old man’s the same. See here, Grace, you don’t mean that you think Winnie’s jealous—jealous of Maddelena?”
She laughed outright. She couldn’t help it. His consternation and his air of injured innocence were so comical.
“I think it highly probable, my dear Austin.”
“But it’s absurd!” he protested. “And it’s not a bit like Winnie.”
“Isn’t it? I’m afraid you don’t know much about women, Austin, even though you are a novelist, and psychologist, and all the rest of it.”
He laughed too, then, somewhat ruefully:
“I guess you’re about right. You generally are. Question is—what’s to be done?”
“What did you send her for Christmas?”
“Only some flowers and candies. I took them around myself last night and left them. But I’ve got this.” From his waistcoat pocket he extracted a dainty little morocco case, opened it and passed it to Grace, adding sheepishly, “You see, I wanted to give her this myself, if she’ll only see me.”
“Oh, how beautiful!” Grace cried, as she examined the ring—a superb sapphire surrounded by small diamonds.