“The white’s for you, and the black’s for me,” he said, laughing, as he slipped it on her finger. “I knew it would fit,” he went on, “for I knew what a mite of a hand it was for! The man thought it was for a child.”
“Oh, how dear, how lovely, how beautiful it is!” said Mimi. “How good you were to think of it! But, Bertie—” She hesitated a moment, and then said: “You won’t be vexed if I ask you something, will you?”
“I don’t know,” he said, with a slight frown. “I don’t like questions.”
“Oh, I know that—and I’m not going to inquire into anything! You needn’t be afraid of that. All I want is to know whether—when the time comes—I’ll be obliged to take off my wedding-ring? Couldn’t I wear it still?”
She looked into his face with the most earnest beseeching, and evidently with intense anxiety as to his reply.
“Oh, I suppose you could—if you wanted to! I don’t see why not. I never heard of anyone’s doing it, but of course you can keep it on, if it will be a comfort to you. It’s a natural enough wish. Precious thing! I declare it’s perfectly touching!”
“Oh, thank you, Bertie, thank you!” she cried, throwing her arms around his neck again. “You don’t know what a load you have taken off my mind!”
“Poor little Mim,” he said, gently stroking her hair, “how you can care as you do about such a devil of a scamp as I am is the mystery!”
“You are not—you are good,” she said brokenly, “and Bertie, there is just one more thing I want to ask you to let me keep. If you’ll do that, I’ll be satisfied.”
“What is it?”