rings,” said my employer brusquely. “Engagement rings, sir, of course?” “Yes, of course,” said Mr. Waters, fixing a cold granite-grey stare just above the retriever’s back—or rather, the jeweller’s head. “Now—” [80] [80] I felt that he had nearly rapped out his usual “Now, Miss Trant!” but checked himself under the sympathetically intrusive eye of that Jewish salesman as he turned to me—“what stones do you prefer?” “I? Oh! What does it matter?—I mean, I don’t mind in the least!” I was remembering things that various girl-friends had told me, in the old days, of the choosing of their engagement rings; of various rings I had seen. One girl, whose fiancé had gipsy blood in his veins, had chosen a gipsy’s silver wedding-ring. Another had a tiny enamel circlet with the posy: If I were the falling-in-love type of girl, which thank goodness I’m not, this scene at Gemmer’s, so utterly opposed to all canons of Romance and tradition, might have seemed a “desecration”—might have got thoroughly on my nerves. But what was on my nerves, which actually were jangled enough for the moment, was—first, the attitude of the girls towards me ever since I came back from the Carlton yesterday—and, secondly, the Governor’s blind tactlessness, his intention of turning me loose among them, so to speak, alone, to flaunt his ring on my finger! [81] [81] A positive rage against Still Waters boiled up in me as suddenly as hot milk in the saucepan when you don’t watch it. So, when he suggested, casually, “Let us say diamonds, then, shall we?” I heard myself retort quickly, almost before I knew what I meant: “Yes, diamonds. Diamonds are always money afterwards, you know!” As soon as it was out of my mouth I realized that it was an appalling thing to say under any circumstances. Mr. Levi Smarm, however, seemed to consider it an extremely witty remark.
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