"Yes!" she answered simply; "I know it, because I am like my mother. But it is not anything to be beautiful,--unless one is loved,--and then it is different! I feel much more beautiful now, since you think me pleasant to look at!"
Philip laughed and caught her hand. "What a child you are!" he said. "Now let me see this little finger." And he loosened from his watch-chain a half-hoop ring of brilliants. "This belonged to my mother, Thelma," he continued gently, "and since her death I have always carried it about with me. I resolved never to part with it, except to--" He paused and slipped it on the third finger of her left hand, where it sparkled bravely.
She gazed at it in surprise. "You part with it now?" she asked, with wonder in her accents. "I do not understand!"
He kissed her. "No? I will explain again, Thelma!--and you shall not laugh at me as you did the very first time I saw you! I resolved never to part with this ring, I say, except to--my promised wife. Now do you understand?"
She blushed deeply, and her eyes dropped before his ardent gaze.
"I do thank you very much, Philip,"--she faltered timidly,--she was about to say something further when suddenly Lorimer entered the saloon. He glanced from Errington to Thelma, and from Thelma back again to Errington,--and smiled. So have certain brave soldiers been known to smile in face of a death-shot. He advanced with his usual languid step and nonchalant air, and removing his cap, bowed gravely and courteously.
"Let me be the first to offer my congratulations to the future Lady Errington! Phil, old man! . . . I wish you joy!"