“Gamara—that dreadful place? Oh no!”
He laughed, with some condescension. “Why, of course it’s the danger that makes the post such a splendid thing to get, little Pen.”
“I wasn’t thinking of the danger. It is the frightful wickedness of the place.”
“And you couldn’t trust me there! What a flattering opinion you have of me! But that doesn’t signify. Look here, Pen, I want our engagement announced to-night. My uncle will do it at the dinner-party; he was quite pleased with the idea. Here’s the ring I’ve been keeping for you. Let me put it on.”
But Penelope drew back from him. She had endured much, but this was impossible. To sit at dinner between Major Keeling and Ferrers, and be the subject of the congratulations, toasts, and jests which the suggested announcement would involve, conscious all the time that the heart supposed to belong to the one man had been given to the other—how could she stand it? She spoke with indignant decision. “No, you must wait till to-morrow. You may make your announcement to-night if you like, but I shall not appear.”
“Nonsense, Pen! What do you mean? What would the fellows say?”
“They may say and think what they please, but if the slightest allusion is made to anything of the kind, I will never speak to you again. I won’t wear your ring. Take it back, or I will throw it away.”
“Well, of all the——!” Ferrers was puzzled and slightly alarmed. “There’s no need to fly out at me like a little fury, Pen. If you don’t want the engagement announced to-night—why, it shan’t be, of course. But what am I to say to my uncle?”
“Anything you like. Say I don’t feel well. Tell him it was the eclipse, if you want an excuse.” She laughed mirthlessly.
“Oh, very well; but I hope you’re not going to take up fancies, and go on like this——”