“Regina, what does she mean by that?”
Now, for the life of her Regina could not think of the French word for ring.
“She means ‘brooch’ of course,” she replied. “I really don’t know what ring is in French.”
“Pas une broche?” the lady of the establishment demanded.
“No, not a brooch,” Alfred Whittaker shouted at her, as if her understanding lay at the back of deaf ears.
“Un bracelet, peut-etre?” the Frenchwoman asked, touching her wrist with a gesture that conveyed more than her words.
“No, no,” said Alfred, tapping his first finger.
“Ah, ah, une bague.” She quickly opened the window and brought out several sapphire rings, including the one which had taken Alfred’s fancy, and then, as he had already, being a business man, grasped the initial weakness of the Norman character, there began a period of haggling which Alfred Whittaker would never have thought of employing in the case of the establishment of Templeton. Eventually Regina left the shop with the beautiful sapphire ring upon her finger.
“My dear girl,” said Alfred (he always called her his dear girl when he was best pleased), “eighteen pounds for a ring like that is dirt cheap She said it was an occasion, what did she mean by ‘an occasion’?”
“I haven’t the least idea, but she certainly said it.”