But she did not come, and Pip did not come. Marie-Louise, with a great rug spread over her, slept in her chair. Dutton Ames read aloud to his wife. Richard rose and went to look for Eve.
There was a little room which Pip called "The Skipper's own." It was furnished in a man's way as a den, with green leather and carved oak and plenty of books. Its windows gave a forward view of sky and water.
It was here that the four of them had been playing auction. Eve was now shuffling the cards for Solitaire.
Pip, watching her, caught suddenly at her left hand. "Why didn't Brooks give you a better ring?"
"I like my ring. Let go of my hand, Pip."
"I won't. What's the matter with the man that he should dare dream of tying you down to what he can give you? It seems to me that he lacks pride."
"He doesn't lack anything. Let go of my hand, Pip."
But he still held it. "How he could have the courage to ask—until he had made a name for himself."
She blazed. "He didn't ask. I asked him, Pip. I cared enough for that."
He dropped her hand as if it had stung him. "You cared—as much as that?"