"It was one of the things that belonged to father's family," the girl explained. "You know he was an Italian, a Venetian—and mother would never let me wear the collar or the old jewels. There's a queer ring. I'm going to give it to Anthony for a wedding ring."
She spoke the last words with a charming hesitation, then went to the little cabinet in the corner and unlocked a drawer. Within was a carved box which when opened showed a massive golden circlet.
"Dad wore it," said Bettina, "on his little finger, but his hands were fat. Anthony's fingers are slim, and he can fit it on the third finger. If he can't get it on the third finger, he shan't wear it."
Diana stared at her in surprise. "Why not?"
"Because it would remind me of Dad," said Bettina, "and I hated Dad."
Here was a new phase of a nature which Diana had judged gentle and yielding.
"But, my dear," she protested, "surely he was your father."
"He broke mother's heart," said Bettina, obstinately; "he loved so many times, and there's only one love that is worth while, and people who can go from one person to another aren't worth thinking about."
It was the judgment of a child ignorant of life, but so aptly did her condemnation fit in with Sophie's words of the night before, that Diana drew a sharp breath. "Perhaps he was only mistaken," she said; "perhaps he didn't understand until it was too late what he had lost."
"He should have understood. I don't want to be harsh—he was my father, and I wouldn't talk this way to every one. But suppose Anthony treated me the way my father treated mother. Suppose he told me he loved me, and then—some day, I found that he cared—for some one else. What would you think of him then—what would you think of Anthony?"