Indeed, upon her finger, now that she had removed her glove, was a diamond engagement ring, an ornament which meant so very much to her—as it does to all girls in all stations of life who are beloved.
The man turned from the window, his big, deep-set eyes upon her, and, bending, kissed her fondly. But the expression upon his hard, aquiline face as he turned away was a strange, unusual one, though, perhaps unfortunately for her, she was unable to see it. The look was not one of love—nay, rather of world-weariness and of deep anxiety.
“I wish my holiday was not yet at an end, Ralph,” she sighed, wistfully, after a brief pause. “But father is inexorable, and says he must get back to business, while, as you know, I am due back at the Maison Collette on Monday morning. I’ve already had three days longer than the other girls—three delightful sunny days.”
“Yes,” sighed the young man. “I suppose, dearest, you will be compelled to go back for a time to your modes and your hat-making and your workroom friends. But only until November—until you become my wife.” He spoke English with only a slight trace of accent.
“Ah! What supreme happiness!” cried the girl, in ecstasy, again speaking in French, as he bent until his lips touched hers. “I will remain patient, Ralph, till then, even though all the girls may envy me. They are all English, and just because I happen to be French, they are never too friendly.”
The young man was silent for a few moments; then he sprang from her side as the waiter entered with the tea.
After he had swallowed a cup of tea he suddenly exclaimed in perfect French:
“Ah! I quite forgot, dearest. I wonder if you would excuse me if I leave you here for ten minutes or so? I want to send a telegram.”
“Certainement,” she laughed happily. “I shall be quite all right, Ralph. There are papers here to amuse me.”
“Very well,” he said; “I won’t be a minute longer than possible,” and, taking up his cap, he went out and closed the door behind him.