Nora felt hurt and annoyed--not with Nell, but herself. She ought to have known better than to offer such a very superior sort of young woman money. It was thoughtless of her--unpardonable. She thrust the offending bank-note into her pocket, and turning, took Nell’s hand. ‘Forgive me,’ she said, just as if she had known her for years. ‘I have been a fool. I ought to have seen that you were above such paltry considerations. You don’t look like a farmer’s daughter to me. You seem as if you had been used to such much better things. Have you lived in Usk all your life?’ ‘No, not all my life,’ said Nell. ‘Have you been a governess, then, or anything of that sort? You seem to have had such a very superior education,’ remarked Nora. ‘Do you think so?’ replied Nell. She certainly seemed a very difficult sort of young woman to get on with. Nora hardly knew how to proceed. But then a sudden thought struck her (for hers was a generous nature), and hastily drawing a sapphire ring off her finger, she tried to put it on one of Nell’s. It was one that the earl had given her--that he had been accustomed to wear himself. It was what is called a gipsy ring--a broad band of gold, in which three unusually fine, dark-blue, flawless sapphires were sunk--the only ring which Ilfracombe had worn before his marriage. He had put it on Nora’s finger at Malta as soon as he was engaged to her, as proxy for one better suited to her slender hand, and she had refused to give it up again. Now it struck her that it would be just the sort of ring to present to a young woman whose hands were rather large and used to rough work. So she tried to put it on the third finger of Nell’s left hand. ‘They say it is unlucky to wear a ring on your wedding-finger till you are married,’ she said, laughing; ‘but I am sure, Miss Llewellyn, you are far too sensible a girl to mind an old superstition.’ ‘But what are you doing?’ asked Nell sharply, as she drew her hand away. There, on her finger glittered the ring she knew so well--had seen so often on the hand of her lover in the olden days. She gazed at it for a moment, fascinated as a bird by the eye of a snake; and then, with a sharp cry, she dragged the jewel off again, and it rolled under the table and along the polished oak floor. ‘Oh, my poor ring,’ cried the countess, somewhat offended at this determined repulse. ‘Whose is it? Where did you get it?’ exclaimed Nell, as she rose to her feet with flashing eyes and trembling limbs. ‘Where did I get it?’ echoed Nora, with amazement. ‘Why, I bought it, of course. Where should I have got it?’ ‘No, you didn’t!’ said Nell, panting. ‘It was given to you!’ ‘What an extraordinary girl you are,’ replied Nora, as she stooped to recover her ring. ‘If it _were_ given to me, you may be sure I have every right to pass it on to you if I choose. But what makes you say so?’ ‘_Who_ gave it you?’ asked Nell, without apologising for her strange behaviour.