“Poor little precious, you shan’t be rushed and badgered! Elizabeth, until I can get you a real, proper ring, will you wear this?” He drew the signet ring from his little finger.

“I’d like to,” she said, and gave him her hand.

*

Cynthia was with his mother, and Anthony. As Stephen came impetuously into the drawing-room, Anthony, pen in hand, was saying,

“But, look here, mater, you must remember where that missing twenty pounds went to!”

“I don’t, a bit,” Mrs. Ramsay said placidly, then caught sight of her son. “Stephen, Anthony’s bullying me.”

Stephen bent to kiss the top of her head.

“What a shame! And what have yon been doing?”

“He says I must account for a horrible twenty pounds. Put it down as incidental expenses, Anthony.”

“Can’t. Everything is incidental expenses! And really, mater, this isn’t the way to keep an account-book.”

“Isn’t it, darling? You show me, then.”

Anthony grinned, and shut the book.

“Showed you last week, my dear. Not a bit of good.”

“Don’t worry her,” Stephen said. “She likes to be in a muddle. I’ll go through with her later. She probably bought a Chippendale chair with that twenty pounds.”

Mrs. Ramsay sat up.

“No, not a chair, a mirror. Stephen, you’re perfectly wonderful! I should never have remembered! How did you do it?”

“Long association with you helped, mater. I’ve news for you.”

“How nice! Good news?”

Stephen went to the fireplace and stood with his back to it. Mrs. Ramsay saw that his chin was tilted a little as though for battle.

“Very good news. I am engaged to be married to Elizabeth Arden.”

Heavily weighted, his words fell into a strained silence. Then Cynthia moved, jerking her head.

“Oh, damnation!” she said forcibly.

“Thanks,” said Stephen. “Anything else?”

“Go to the devil your own silly way!”

Stephen’s hands went into his pockets, tight clenched. There was blazing light at the back of his eyes, and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

“Yes? What exactly do you mean by that?”

“What I say!”

Anthony heaved himself out of his chair.

“No, she doesn’t. Gently, Cynthia, now! Congratulations, old man, an’ all that sort of thing. Nice little girl, Elizabeth.”

Mrs. Ramsay came to Stephen, and put her hands up to hold the lapels of his coat.

“Please don’t frown at me, Stephen dear! If you’re very happy, I am too. Didn’t I say I should be? Somebody bring me a footstool, I can’t reach him, and I want to kiss him.”

“You’re a dear, mater,” Stephen said, and hugged her. “You won’t be able to help loving Elizabeth when you know her better.”

“Of course I shan’t. Can I congratulate her, or does that look as though I’m too proud of you?”

Cynthia rose and walked out of the room.