“I don’t know. They are said to be jealous! But enough gloom! Do you still like your ring dear?”
“I’m crazy about it. It’s the most beautiful I have ever seen!”
She held out her hand and they admired the ring with rather comical gravity. An enormous emerald cut square and set in a delicate lacework of diamonds and platinum, it etherealized the white hand to the point of fragility.
“My collection of emeralds ought to be complete. First my bracelet, then the pendant, and now my ring.”
He protested scornfully. “Complete, I should say not! I intend to hang ropes of emeralds all over you yet, when I’m really famous,” he boasted with boyish glee.
“Until I fall dead beneath their weight, like the princess in the fairy tale!” Her arm dropped from about his shoulder wearily.
With a remorseful look at her pale face, he left her and walked to the window.
“Look, the rain has stopped. It was only a shower after all. The hillsides are smiling again. And the garden is as fresh and dewy as a pretty woman after her bath. Shall we go out?”
He opened the French window and they stepped out on to the flagged terrace. Polished by rain, diamond-studded, in the late afternoon sun, the garden sent up renewed incense, a symphony of rare fragrance, that mounted into the air like music.
“It reminds me of one of Liszt’s rhapsodies,” said Alexis, his fingers wielding an imaginary bow.