He laughed.
“Why, you dear little goose! are you superstitious?”
“N—o; but somehow I do not wish to touch it until after you have put it where it belongs,” she answered, softly.
He removed it from the case, holding it so that she could see the engraving on its inside surface, and she read, “G. D. to G. H. Dec. 30, 18—.”
“G. D.!” she repeated, looking up questioningly.
“Yes,” he replied, gravely. “Forgive me for referring again to an unpleasant topic, but I could not bring my mind to add another H. there. If I have a right to an honored name, and find it out sometime, then I will have the initial inserted—you see, I have had space left for it. Do you mind?”
“No, Geoff,” Gladys returned, after a moment’s thought, though her heart sank at his words, as she remembered what Everet Mapleson had told her, “you have done perfectly right to mark the ring as you wish, and, of course, no one save ourselves ever need know anything about it.”
He put it away with a sigh of relief.
“I am glad that you approve, dear,” he said, smiling, “and now mind that your glove is properly arranged, and no other ring on this, my especial finger; for this ring must never come off after I have once put it on, unless we find another initial to add to the others. Now, good-by, love, for the next three hours. I shall not see you again until we meet at church.”