"I've forgotten."
"Well, I haven't. Someway, it seemed to suit you as jewels seldom suit anybody, and you had it on the other night when you promised to marry me. Both times you were wearing the spangled gown, and that's why I asked for it to-night, and why I've had your engagement ring made of a turquoise."
Isabel murmured inarticulately, but he went on, heedlessly: "It's made of silver because you're my Silver Girl, the design is all roses because it was in the time of roses, and it's a turquoise for reasons I've told you. Our initials and the date are inside."
Allison slipped it on her finger and struck a match that she might see it plainly. Isabel turned it on her finger listlessly.
"Very pretty," she said, in a small, thin voice, after an awkward pause.
"Why, dearest," he cried, "don't you like it?"
"It's well enough," she answered, slowly, "but not for an engagement ring. Everybody else has diamonds. I thought you cared enough for me to give me a diamond," she said, reproachfully.
"I do," he assured her, "and you shall have diamonds—as many as I can give you. Why, sweet, this is only the beginning. There's a long life ahead of us, isn't there? Do you think I'm never going to give my wife any jewels?"
"Aunt Francesca and Rose put you up to this," said Isabel, bitterly.
"They never want me to have anything."
"They know nothing whatever about it," he replied, rather coldly, taking it from her finger as he spoke. "Listen, Isabel. Would you rather have a diamond in your engagement ring?"