"I don't understand this foolishness," she said, fretfully, as she released herself from his encircling arm. "It's damp and chilly out here, and I'll get wet and take cold."
"It isn't damp, darling, and you can't take cold. Why didn't you wear the spangles?"
"Do you suppose I want to spoil my best gown dragging it through the wet grass?"
"The grass isn't wet, and, anyhow, you haven't been on it—only on the path. Come over here to the bench and sit down."
"I don't want to. I want to go in."
"All right, but not just yet. I'll carry you, if you're afraid of dampness." Before she could protest, he had picked her up and laughingly seated her on the bench at the edge of the lily-pool.
Isabel smoothed her rumpled hair. "You've mussed me all up," she complained. "Why can't we go in? Aunt Francesca and Rose are upstairs."
"Listen, sweetheart. Please be patient with me just a minute, won't you?
I've brought you your engagement ring."
"Oh," cried Isabel, delightedly. "Let me see it!"
"I want to tell you about it first. You remember, don't you, that the first night I came here, you were wearing a big silver pin—a turquoise matrix, set in dull silver?"