"But I would be the last man to deny that I owe Morphew a great deal," Lanyard was able to state with entire sincerity. "And some day—it is my dearest hope some day to be able to repay him as he deserves."
"That's all right, then." Mollified, Folly relaxed. "I'm terribly glad."
"Is it fair to ask why?"
"Because I want you to like him . . . for my sake, you know."
"Afraid I don't know."
"He hasn't told you?"
"I begin to be afraid to ask more questions."
A small gurgle of vanity bubbled out of the shadows. Then Folly thrust a hand into the golden flood that fell through the windows beyond the settee. Upon her third finger a great cabochon emerald shone with soft, unwinking fire.
"It's the finest stone of its kind on this side of the Atlantic," its wearer declared, "outside of my collection. That is, it was outside till Morphy gave it to me."
"You mean—you can't mean you're going to be married—!"