On the left one glistened a narrow gold band.
"Jason's!" cried Sylvia. "Jason's! Take it off and give it to me. You owe nothing to Jason. Even I, a Howe, would not have you preserve longer that worn out allegiance, neither would my mother. The past is dead. You have closed the door upon it. You said so yourself. Never think of it again. You belong to Stanley now—to Stanley and to no one else."
As she spoke, Sylvia took the ring from the older woman's hand and held it high in the air.
"The past is dead," she repeated, "and the last reminder of it—is—gone."
There was a gleam as the golden band spun aloft and catching an instant the sunlight's glory, disappeared beneath the foam that marked the line of incoming breakers.
"Now, Stanley, put your ring upon her finger. It is a symbol of a new life, of hope, of happier things. Isn't it so, Marcia?"
"Yes! Yes!"
Sylvia drew a long breath.
"There! Now we'll not be serious a minute longer. This is the greatest day of our four lives. There must not be even a shadow in our heaven. Kiss me, Marcia, and come and meet Hortie. Poor dear! He is paralyzed with fright at the thought of appearing into your presence. I left him hiding behind the door. I could not coax him out of the house."