He cried out in protest, but even as he did so he heard the sounds of footsteps on the porch, and turned in time to see the door flung open by Fitzroy. Behind the Irishman strode the tall figure of General Coulstoun, his face overcast with anxiety.
“Thank God!” he cried when he saw his daughter. “You’ve been gone an age, my dear, and I’ve been uneasy in spite of Fitzroy, here. It’s very well to say ‘It’s all right, it’s all right’; but in an island full of con—”
“I felt quite safe under M. de Charruel’s protection,” interrupted Amy, striking that dreadful word full in the middle. “I thought you knew I was with this gentleman.”
“I don’t know that that made me feel any more—” began the general, recollecting himself in the nick of time. “Why, Amy, child, what are you doing with that ring?”
“M. de Charruel has just presented it to me, papa,” she returned. “Is it not beautiful?”
“Good God!” cried the general, “it is a ruby! I could swear it is a ruby! It must be worth a fortune!” Between each of these remarks he stared de Charruel in the face with mingled suspicion, anger, and surprise.
“I am told that it is worth about twelve thousand francs,” said the Frenchman.
The general started. Fitzroy hurriedly whispered something into his ear. “You don’t say so!” the former was overheard to say. “In a duel, was it? I didn’t know anybody was ever killed in a French—Oh, I see—yes—lost his head—”
This little aside finished, the general came back again to the attack, more civil, however, and more conciliatory in his tone.
“You must be aware,” he said, addressing de Charruel, “that no young lady can accept such a present as this from any one save a member of her family or the man to whom she is engaged. I can only think that my daughter has taken your ring in ignorance of its real value, forgetful for the moment that the conventionalities are the same whether in New Caledonia or New York. You will pardon me, therefore, if I feel constrained to ask you to take back your gift.”