Jean—Let me see it again; let me take it and look at it.
Angelica—Oh, you cannot take it! I cannot be without it one moment, I love it so.
Jean—But let me, me only, look at it one moment. (He snatches at her hand and draws it to him and kisses it impulsively.)
Angelica—I thought you wanted to look at the ring!
Jean—I forget the ring when I think of you, dearest Angelica. Can’t you forgive that? Can’t you? Can’t you?
Angelica—I would try, perhaps; but now, look at it! look! (She holds up the ring to the lamp’s light.) See the wonders in it?
Jean—I see no wonders; it is just a little round drop of dull white set on a band of gold.
Angelica—Little round drop of dull white indeed! See there! See there! Do you not see a streak of something, like the pain that now and then shoots down through one’s shoulders?
Jean—No, there is no streak in it.
Angelica—But now, now, see it! Try it in this light, in this pale, pure light that shines down through the flue from above.