"But I don't want what they know at shops. It must be something quite private and special."
"But the shop has got to know about it when I tell them. And I don't like telling strange men in shops private and special things about ourselves. I love you, Celia, but——"
"That would be a lovely thing," she said, clasping her hands eagerly.
"What?"
"'I love you, Celia.'"
I looked at her aghast.
"Do you want me to order that in cold blood from the shopman?"
"He wouldn't mind. Besides, if he saw us together he'd probably know. You aren't afraid of a goldsmith, are you?"
"I'm not afraid of any goldsmith living—or goldfish either, if it comes to that. But I should prefer to be sentimental in some other language than plain English. I could order 'Cara sposa', or—or 'Spaghetti,' or anything like that, without a tremor."
"But of course you shall put just whatever you like. Only—only let it be original. Not Mizpahs."