Miss Mason got up from her chair.
“Bless me!” she said in an excited voice, “it’s little Sybil Quarly. Sally, bring fresh tea at once.”
Sybil sat down by the table in a chair put for her by Barnabas.
“Of all the extraordinary things,” she laughed, “that I should walk quietly into this studio and find you. It must be fifteen years since we met.”
“And eleven since I heard from you,” said Miss Mason.
Sybil flushed faintly. “I’m a shocking letter writer,” she said. “I never write letters. But indeed I had not forgotten you.”
“Of course not,” said Miss Mason. “So the ring is yours. Just fancy that through your losing it, and Mr. Kirby’s advertisement, we should meet again. I’ve got it quite safely for you.” She got up and took it from a small box. “Here it is.”
Sybil held out her hand for it. Suddenly she became aware that Barnabas was watching her.
“I believe,” she said to him, with a little nervous laugh, “that you know my husband, Luke Preston. He was speaking of you only the other day, and saying that he must look you up.”
Barnabas smiled. “What, old Luke!” he exclaimed. “Of course I knew him. We were at school together.”