I reached over to them, and she moved her hand quickly away and clasped it tightly with the other.
I picked up the keys:—“Store-room, Cellar, Commercial Room, Office,” said I, reading off the names on the labels—“why, you seem to keep not only the books, but everything else as well.”
She turned away to measure out some whisky at the other window, and then came back and held out her hand for the keys.
“What a pretty ring,” I said; “I wonder I haven't noticed it before. You can't have had it on lately.”
She looked at me fearfully and again covered her hand.
“Please give me my keys.”
“Yes, if I may look at the ring.”
The little book-keeper turned away, and slipping quietly on to her chair, burst into tears.
I pushed open the door of the office and walked in.
“What is it?” I whispered, bending over her and gently smoothing her hair.