If, a year or two later, you could have persuaded Mrs. Cloud to tell you her thoughts, she would have said that she always considered the engagement ring to be at the bottom of the whole wretched business. If Laura had begun by being firm ... but Laura, she could not help feeling, had been lamentably wanting in backbone where Justin was concerned.... For Justin had his faults.... She was his mother, but she was not like some mothers.... She was perfectly willing to admit that Justin had his faults.... Oh, well—you could scarcely call them faults, perhaps that would be too strong, but—well, he was inclined to be dreamy sometimes: he had certainly been dreamy over the engagement ring.... But still, she could not help feeling that that was Laura’s fault.... Laura should have been firm....

Oh, of course, if Laura liked Justin to ride rough-shod over her, well and good! But then she should not have turned upon him afterwards! And that was just it—if they had been openly engaged it was quite reasonable that they should have had their differences: their slack months, so to speak, would not have mattered in the least.... The engagement ring would have fixed their status. But as it was....

If Laura had had proper pride, if she had even shown that she was disappointed—for, of course, she must have been disappointed——Oh! (Mrs. Cloud’s smile would deprecate her worldliness) if she had done no more than talk for a day or two of how fond she was of rubies or of pearls or whatever it was—why, then Justin would have got the idea well into his head, and the ring would have been bought! Nobody could say that Justin was not generous.... He must have spent pounds on the books he brought back that very day for Laura.... But still—they weren’t an engagement ring and nothing would make them one....

Thus far—but you would never have got it out of her—a reminiscent Mrs. Cloud.

But besides Mrs. Cloud there had been Brackenhurst to consider. Brackenhurst also had wanted an engagement ring. Without that certificate Mr. Cloud and Miss Laura Valentine might ‘understand’ each other—Brackenhurst had arranged long ago for them to do that—but it could not call them engaged. Indeed, it had at last, in desperation, circulated the rumour that old Mr. Valentine had Put his Foot Down. Old Mr. Valentine, who still called his grey-haired daughter and the niece who sometimes came to stay ‘the girls,’ who locked the front door, winter and summer, at ten o’clock, and thereafter sat up for strayed revellers in his skull-cap and dressing-gown, with a candle in one hand and his great gold watch open in the other, and an expression upon his face that few cared to encounter twice—old Mr. Valentine, it was said, had permitted no public engagement until Laura was one-and-twenty.

It was a useful rumour, one that satisfied Brackenhurst and did not displease Mrs. Cloud. Because, you see, it would have been difficult to explain to the incredulous that there was no engagement ring on Laura’s finger because—because—well, to tell you the truth (Aunt Adela would have done it more unctuously than Mrs. Cloud), the fact was that dear Justin kept on forgetting to buy one! And Laura—a good girl, but, between you and Aunt Adela, with curious ideas sometimes—apparently didn’t mind! Yes. Unconventional. Very. And so was Mr. Cloud. Oh, of course, if they were satisfied——But personally—Aunt Adela would not say so to every one—but personally, she must say—yes, exactly!

Aunt Adela would have enjoyed herself.

You do understand that it was pure absent-mindedness on Justin’s part? When Justin told his mother the news and the first congratulations were over, and Mrs. Cloud had kissed him and he had re-sketched to her in delightful detail his ideas for the future, and Mrs. Cloud had neither assented nor dissented, but with her wise smile had listened and changed the subject and talked to him about Laura till he began to fidget—because, after all, he knew all about Laura, there was nothing new to say of Laura exactly—after that pleasant talk had died out and they had sat silent a while, Mrs. Cloud had turned in her chair and begun to ask lighter questions and so touched upon the subject of the ring.

“Oh—the ring!” Justin opened his eyes. He had been staring at the light window till he was nearly asleep. “Oh, of course. A ring! Yes, I hadn’t thought of that. I’ll run up to town tomorrow.”

Then he had asked his mother’s advice, and they had discussed the rival merits of pearls and emeralds and old settings, till Justin, always thorough, and growing interested, had got down the EncyclopÆdia and the dictionary with plates. He had broken off in the middle to go and fetch his Laura, very full indeed of his subject. And Laura had arrived, with a shy, glowing look about her that had touched Mrs. Cloud; but they were not allowed to do more than kiss each other before Laura was engaged in discussion with Justin as to whether the biblical jasper were the modern diamond, and if not why not? They got quite heated about it. Mrs. Cloud sat by and listened, and thought how clever they both were, and that Justin was the cleverer but that Laura talked faster: and occupied herself the while with taking the exact size of Laura’s third finger from her left-hand glove. The evening was a very pleasant one, though upon the whole more instructive than romantic. Of all three, I suppose, Mrs. Cloud went to bed the happiest. Laura dreamed of a bare hill-side and the scent of thyme and of a bird singing in the sun. Justin dreamed of nothing at all. But Mrs. Cloud dreamed quite shamelessly of grandchildren.

Justin went up to town the next day, only for a couple of hours, with the measurements in his pocket. He spent most of his time at South Kensington and the Jermyn Street Museum, and did not get back within the week. His crazes were always as thorough as they were sudden. He forgot all about his birds’ eggs and enjoyed himself very much: and brought back, as I told you, besides a new toothbrush, a most wonderful and expensive book on precious stones, Cellini’s treatise, Jones on finger rings, and a bound volume of the Connoisseur as a little present for Laura.

She was spending the afternoon with his mother on the day of his return, and after tea he laid his gifts in triumph before her. Laura could look at such books for their own sake where Mrs. Cloud looked at them for Justin’s; but neither motive mattered at the moment, for Justin was still so delighted with them that at first he would hardly let any one else look at them at all. Laura, over his shoulder, was as unwearied in asking questions as he in answering, and he had more or less unburdened himself, to her intent ears, of all he had seen and learned and adventured, before Mrs. Cloud, verging on impatience with the cool ways of your modern lovers, could find a pause in which to ask about a matter of importance.

“And what else did you bring home, Justin?” She had unpacked his bag herself, but it was not there. Her eyes were doubtfully on his slim pockets.

He turned over his purchases.

“Jones—Connoisseur—Cellini——Oh, yes, and there’s a Punch in the hall—” he turned to Laura again: “—as big as a plum—and a colour! In one case alone. Oh, you’ve got to come up with me, Laura. You’ve never seen anything like it. Funny—I’ve passed that room dozens of times and never noticed before. But, of course, I was always after eggs.”

Mrs. Cloud gave up trying to lead the conversation where she wanted it to go. She cut across it.

“Justin, I’m sure Laura is longing to see her ring.”

Justin frowned absently.

“Ring? What ring? Oh—the ring! Oh, I say, Laura—I’m awfully sorry! I’m afraid I never gave it another thought.”

“Oh, it doesn’t matter,” said Laura brightly.

Mrs. Cloud said nothing emphatically, which disturbed Justin more than any disapproval of Laura’s would have done. He turned blankly from his books.

“I shall be up again in a few days,” he assured them. “Or I could write,” he suggested unhappily. He hated writing letters.

He paused. He had an inspiration.

“I suppose you or Mother wouldn’t be going up?” he wondered hopefully.

Mrs. Cloud said nothing more emphatically than ever.

“I’ll go straight up again tomorrow,” he decided, an eye on his mother.

Laura laughed.

“What nonsense! Why, you’re only just back! And I found a corncrake’s nest yesterday. Bother the old ring!”

His face cleared. He liked Laura.

“Well—if you wouldn’t mind waiting till Tuesday, we might both go up. A corncrake? Which field? Any good for a photograph? The Museum’s shut on Mondays. And then we could choose it together. After all, there’s no hurry, is there?”

“Of course not,” said Laura.

Mrs. Cloud could have shaken her.

They went up together on Tuesday, and, according to both of them, had a ripping time. But when Mrs. Cloud, alone with Laura the next day, took the girl’s two hands in her own, and openly and gravely looked at them, she found the left hand as bare as the right.

“Laura!” Mrs. Cloud’s voice implied that she was not at all pleased with Laura.

Laura twinkled.

“Mrs. Cloud, we were too busy. We had such a glorious day. We hadn’t time, simply.”

“It’s ridiculous!” Mrs. Cloud’s tone was sharp. She was annoyed with Justin, and she felt that it was too bad of Laura to put her in the position of being annoyed with Justin. “You might have reminded him,” she said.

Laura looked at her.

“Oh—I might.” Her tone was expressionless.

Mrs. Cloud’s gesture disclaimed all future responsibility for any one at all in the world whatever.

“He’ll think of it some time or other,” Laura soothed her, with another twinkle. She sat smiling to herself over Justin and his ways and her own odd delight in humouring them. Then a new thought took her and she laughed outright. “Oliver would have had it in his pocket,” she said, “months beforehand. Poor Oliver!”

She wondered idly what should bring him into her head again. She had not thought of him for so long. She was astonished to find herself considering him indulgently, all irritation inexplicably dissipated.

“Oliver?”

“Yes.”

Mrs. Cloud’s eyebrows were expressive.

“Was he——” she ventured.

Laura nodded.

“Really!”

Mrs. Cloud had never liked Oliver, but she nevertheless felt a new respect for Laura on his account. And then, inevitably—

“Does Justin know?”

Laura shrugged her shoulders. She was discovering, with a touch of bewilderment, how much she had changed in less than three months. For, instead of being terrified at the mere chance of Justin’s knowledge, she thought that it didn’t matter after all if he did, one way or another, hear a disturbing rumour or two. Of course, she would never tell him herself, but if Mrs. Cloud——In fact, she would rather like Justin to know what Oliver had thought about her three months ago. That Oliver might have his own feelings on the subject simply did not occur to her, any more than she knew why she should like Justin to know. But she knew that she did wish it and that she was tempted to use Mrs. Cloud to accomplish her wish; also, that for some reason or other, she was feeling vaguely ashamed of herself. For it was about an upright and sensitive spirit that the Maya-veil of love had been cast. Laura would have been an honest soul if she had not been a woman. As it was she at least tried to change the subject with—

“Do you know when Rhoda and Lucy come back, Mrs. Cloud?”

Mrs. Cloud would not be diverted.

“I cannot understand Justin,” said Mrs. Cloud. Her eyes were on Laura’s hand again.

Laura flushed.

“It doesn’t mean anything—to a man,” she said defensively, “no more than a tie-pin.”

“It’s so unlike Justin.” Mrs. Cloud assured herself that she believed what she said.

“Oh no, Mrs. Cloud.” Laura’s eyes were shrewd as well as wistful. “He always forgets details. You know what he is. You see, it is a detail to him. It means just nothing.” She lifted her chin. “I’m glad. I like him that way.”

Mrs. Cloud was frowning, very near anger for once. And yet.... Oh, it was extraordinary of Justin ... but she could not think that it was all his fault.... Laura had no business to encourage him....

“I shall speak to Justin,” she said stiffly.

Laura caught her arm with that unseemly naked hand of hers, as if Mrs. Cloud were rising on the instant.

“Oh no, Mrs. Cloud. Please! I should hate you to. I should simply hate it. I don’t want it—that way. If you said anything to him——Oh, please—you wouldn’t, would you?”

“I can say what I like to my own son, Laura,” said Mrs. Cloud fiercely.

“I know. I know. Of course. But——”

“But what?” said Justin’s mother.

“But—I’m going to marry him,” said Laura, softly, but quite desperately.

At that they were silent, their eyes in their laps. They were both hot and sore, though they could not have told why: and they both said to themselves over and over again that they must make allowances—make allowances.

Suddenly Laura put her hand on Mrs. Cloud’s knee.

“Mrs. Cloud—dear Mrs. Cloud—I didn’t mean—I only wanted——”

“What do you want, Laura?”

“I don’t want him prompted,” said Laura rather pitifully. “I want him to give it to me because he wants to give it to me. Not because it’s the thing to do. I want——” She laughed. “I want too much, don’t I?”

“Men look at things so differently,” said Mrs. Cloud in her turn. Her anger had come and gone again like a puff of summer wind.

“Yes, I know.”

“He’s very fond of you, my dear,” said Mrs. Cloud.

“Yes. But men——Oh, I wish we were all women,” cried Laura. “Things would be so much simpler. One could just talk them out. But you can’t talk your own language to a man, can you? We’re like those Indian princes at the Durbar from the north and the south, whose only common language was English. Even Justin and I talk English, I suppose, not our own languages. At least—I’d talk mine, only Justin gets bored.” She laughed suddenly. “But I’m getting a smattering of his,” said Laura with satisfaction, “more than he thinks. I’ll—I’ll surprise him some day, p’raps! Am not I thine ass? Wouldn’t Justin jump?” Her eyes danced. She looked as wicked as a cat—no Laura of Justin’s acquaintance at all.

“What’s the matter with you, child?” cried Mrs. Cloud bewildered, and at that her mood changed and her face with it. She slipped down on to the floor, half sitting, half kneeling at Mrs. Cloud’s feet, and began (an old privilege) to play with the loose rings on the beautiful hand with its blue raised veins and its skin like a dried petal, twisting them this way and that to make them sparkle.

“Mrs. Cloud?” began Laura at last.

“Well?”

“Mrs. Cloud?” Still Laura hesitated. “Do you think——Is it always—two languages? When one’s married a long time, is it different?”

“Oh, marriage is a new country altogether.” Mrs. Cloud was smiling again. “You both get—naturalized, I suppose.”

They sat in silence thinking their thoughts, till at last Laura gave a great, happy sigh.

“It will be lovely, being married to Justin,” said Laura dreamily.

“It ought to be,” said Mrs. Cloud.