withal friendly smile as it were, that disarms her speech of its sting
and gives Brian renewed hope and courage.

He takes her hand deliberately and draws it unrepulsed through his arm.

"Let us go up this walk," he says, "and leave all angry words and
thoughts behind us."

He makes a movement in the direction indicated, and finds that she moves
with him. He finds, too, that her slender fingers have closed
involuntarily upon his arm. Plainly, she is as glad to be at peace with
him as he with her.

Coming to a turn in the path, shaded by two rugged old apple-trees now
growing heavy with their green burden, Desmond stands still, and,
putting his right hand in his pocket, draws out something from it. As he
does this he colors slightly.

"You wear all your rings on your right hand," he says, with loving
awkwardness, "and it seems to me the other poor little fingers always
look neglected. I--I wish you would take this and make it a present to
your left hand."

"_This_" is a thick gold band, set with three large diamonds of great
brilliancy in gypsy fashion.

"Oh! not for me!" says Monica, recoiling, and clasping her hands behind
her back, yet with her eyes firmly fastened upon the beautiful ring.

"Why not for you? Some day I shall give you all I possess; now I can
give you only such things as this."

"Indeed I must not take it," says Monica; but even as she utters the
half-hearted refusal she creeps unconsciously closer to him, and, laying
her hand upon his wrist, looks with childish delight and longing at the
glittering stones lying in his palm.

"But I say you must," says Desmond, taking a very superior tone. "It is
yours, not mine. I have nothing to do with it. It was never meant for
me. See," taking up her hand and slipping the ring on her engaged
finger, "how pretty your little white hand makes it look!"

It is always a difficult thing to a woman to bring herself to refuse
diamonds, but doubly difficult once she has seen them positively
adorning her own person.

Monica looks at the ring, then sighs, then turns it round and round
mechanically, and finally glances at Desmond. He returns the glance by
passing his arm round her shoulders, after which there is never another
word said about the ownership of the ring.

"But it will put my poor little pigs in the shade, won't it?" says
Monica, looking at her other hand, and then at him archly. "Oh! it is
lovely--_lovely_!"

"I think I might have chosen you a