She greeted him with the faintest perceptible effort of memory, as though she hardly recalled who Mr. Julius Berend was; but he was so little disconcerted that the reproof was wasted, and he took the chair nearest to her, which was unnecessary. She felt, in the few moments' conversation that ensued, as though she were a skilled fencer foiling the aimless thrusts of a tyro who did not know he was fencing.
Presently she handed him some tea, and in accepting it he calmly detained her fingers with his left hand.
"Pardon me," he said, "is that a genuine scarabæus in your ring? If so, it is a very perfect specimen."
"My father gave it to me," she said, coldly, "and he believes it to be a real one, but I cannot answer for its genuineness."
She attempted to withdraw her fingers; really, this young man was impossible.
But he still held them with firm gentleness, and having placed his cup of tea on a table, he now ventured to touch the ring with his right forefinger.
"Singular!" he said. "I thought I knew the genus scarabæus fairly well, but I do not remember seeing an intaglio quite like this before. May I——" He was about to draw the ring off.
"I would rather not," Lady Anstiss said, hastily, while his audacity brought the slightest addition of rose-flush to her cheek. "My father placed the ring there himself on my last birthday."
Again she strove to release her hand, and her eyes—grey eyes, with depths of violet in them—darkened with surprised vexation.
This young man seemed incapable of appreciating his own transcendent presumption. He was still replacing the ring, when the door, opening wide and swiftly, disclosed another visitor.