“Incomplete? But I had lessons. I paid to be taught.”
“Then your instructor, whoever he may be, omitted one important item. The moment I noticed it, the whole thing became plain. I knew I was talking to Evelyn Wastneys, and not to her aunt.”
I remembered the sudden flashes of complacency which had mystified me so completely. This was the explanation! I was devoured with curiosity.
“What was it? You must tell me!”
“Your hands!” He smiled, showing his strong, white teeth. “Your pretty hands, with the dimples, and the pink nails, and—the sapphire ring!”
“Ah!” I looked down at the big square stone in its setting of diamonds, and felt inclined to stamp with rage at my own forgetfulness. It was my mother’s engagement ring, and for years I had worn it every day. To my new friends, of course, it had no associations; but for this man who had noticed it on Evelyn’s finger, who had gazed with a lover’s admiration at Evelyn’s hand, the clue was unmistakable! So far as Ralph Maplestone was concerned, all my care, all my pains, had been rendered useless by that one stupid little omission!
I stood dumb and discomfited, and the Chippendale mirror on the opposite wall reflected a round-shouldered figure, a spectacled, disfigured face. I felt a sudden, overwhelming impatience with my disguise.
“For pity’s sake, Evelyn, run away and turn into yourself!” came the command from the big voice. (It is extraordinary how he follows my thoughts!) “I can’t make love to you in those things.”
“I don’t want you to make love to me!” I said—and lied!
“But I do, you see, and it’s my turn! I’ve waited long enough.”