Sylvia came running to meet them and, throwing her arms about Marcia, kissed her.
"Everything is all right—I can see that," she cried. "Oh, I am so glad—so glad for both of you! I believe I just could not stand it if you were not happy, because I am so happy myself. Hortie is here, you know. Didn't Stanley tell you? Why, Stanley Heath, aren't you ashamed to forget all about Hortie and me? Yes, Hortie came this morning. We're engaged. See my ring!"
"Ring!" repeated Heath. "Mercy on us, Marcia, you must have a ring. I cannot allow this young sprite of a niece to outdo you. I am afraid I was not as foresighted as Mr. Fuller, however. Still, I can produce a ring, such as it is. Here, dear, you shall wear this until I can get something better."
He slipped from his little finger the wrought-gold ring with its beautifully cut diamond.
"I picked this up in India," he said. "I am sure it will fit. Try it, Marcia."
"I—I—do not need a ring," murmured she, drawing back and putting her hands nervously behind her.
"Of course you do," interposed Sylvia. "How absurd! A ring is part of being engaged."
"A very, very small part," Marcia answered.
"Nevertheless, it is a part," the girl insisted. "Come, don't be silly. Let Stanley put it on."
Playfully she caught Marcia's hands and imprisoning them, drew them forward.