“Perhaps I’d better,” she admitted. “Time you and Stephen dressed for your party, mater.”

So Stephen and his mother were left alone, and for a long time stood with linked arms before the fire. At last Mrs. Ramsay spoke.

“Soon, Stephen?”

“I hope so, mater.”

Mrs. Ramsay stifled a tiny sigh, and looked up, smiling.

“I’ll give Elizabeth the pearls as a wedding-present, shall I?”

He pressed her elbow slightly.

“No, dear. You won’t.”

“I’d like to, Stephen. Truly.”

“Elizabeth wouldn’t like you to. Nor should I. But you’re a very nice little mater to think of it.”

“Aren’t I?” she nodded, pleased.

Chapter Nine

Following close upon a letter from Mrs. Ramsay, Stephen came to the Boltons’ next morning and caught Elizabeth up into his arms.

“Oh . . . don’t!” she cried, in agitation.

He laughed at her, and held her for yet another moment; then he set her gently on her feet, and put a little leather case into her hand.

“Darling, there’s your first fetter,” he said gaily. “Tell me if you like it! I’ve had at least twelve jewellers’ shops upside down this morning, looking for a ring that would express you.”

Elizabeth opened the case, and of habit, said, How lovely! She had dreamed of sapphires, deep twinkling gems, and Stephen brought her a cluster of pearls set in a diamond circle.

“It looked so exactly like you, Elizabeth. But if you don’t care about it I’ll change it. I ought to have asked you your favourite stone, oughtn’t I?”

“Of course I like it. Thank you very much, Stephen. It’s perfectly beautiful. Only it means tears. Had you forgotten?”

He drew his signet-ring from her finger and slipped his gift on in its place.

“’Fraid it’s too big. Sweetheart, you don’t really care about that silly old superstition, do you?”

She shook her head, smiling.

“No. I said it to tease you. It is too big, Stephen— just a bit.”

“Sickening. What can I measure your dear little finger with?” She hunted in Miss Arden’s work-bag for tape and carefully he tied a knot about her finger.

“Stephen, Mrs. Ram—your mother—has written an awfully nice letter to me. I’m going to tea with her this afternoon.”

“Oh, splendid!” he said. “I told her last night. You ’ll love her, Elizabeth.”

“I’m feeling—dreadfully shy—about going to see her,” she confessed. She laid a hand upon his coat-sleeve, and glanced up at him in the bewitching, childlike way she had.

His arm went round her.

“My darling, you couldn’t be shy of the mater! She’s far more likely to be shy of you, little babe.”

“Is she?” Elizabeth looked surprised. “But why? Won’t she like me as a—as a daughter-in-law?”