"No, you will not, because you know I do not want it, and it will only offend me to have you give me one."
"What?" I retorted, playing my part with perfection. "Won't you permit me to buy you a ring for that day in February?"
"Oh, that is different, and—why are you laughing, Owen Kildare?"
Oh, girl o' mine, girl o' mine, why had it to be!
The day was only weeks distant.
* * * * *
It was in January, and we were out on one of our nightly rambles in the shopping district. It was one of those mild winter evenings which make our climate so uneven. I was glad of it, because my Mamie Rose was a dainty, delicate little creature, and on cold evenings I was afraid that she might suffer from the weather.
We were looking at some furniture displayed in a window, when a shower fell. We were caught right squarely in it. I wanted her to seek refuge in a store, or at least, in a doorway, but we were only a short distance from her home, and she insisted on reaching it before the shower turned into a downpour.
I had a heavy overcoat over a stout suit of clothes. "Let me put, at least, my overcoat over your shoulders," I insisted.
"No, you foolish boy, no," she laughed in answer. "Why, we're only a jump from home, and I am dressed warm enough to risk these few drops."