Ellen laughed as she said it. Arthur Bohun, drinking in draughts of her wondrous beauty, glanced at her meaningly, his blue eyes involuntarily betraying his earnest love.
"It may be your turn next, Ellen."
She blushed vividly, and looked from the window as though she saw something passing. He felt tempted there and then to speak of his love. But he had a keen sense of the fitness of time and place; and she had been placed for these few minutes under his protection: it seemed like putting him on his honour, as schoolboys say. Besides, he had fully made up his mind not to speak until he saw his way clear to marry.
Ellen Adair brought her face round again. "Jelly is in a terrible way about the ring, foretelling all sorts of ill-luck to every one concerned, and is thankful it did not happen to her. Will Bessy keep my ring always, do you think? Perhaps she would not be legally married if she gave it me back and took to her own--when it is found?"
Arthur Bohun's eyes danced a little. "Perhaps not," he replied in the gravest tones. "I don't know what they, would have done without it, Ellen."
"I did not tell Bessy one thing, when she asked me about it in the vestry. I will never tell her if I can help it--that Maria Warne is dead. How was it Mr. North did not come?"
"Nervousness too, in my opinion. He said he was ill."
"Why should he be nervous?"
"Lest it should come to his wife's ears that he had so far countenanced the marriage as to be present at it."
"Can you tell why Mrs. North should set her face against it?"