"Dear digit!--salutation! Now, you unclothed midget, I'll clothe you with this ring." "Oh, Rodney, what--what a darling!" She pressed it to her lips. "Does it fit?" "As if it were made for me." "Isn't that wonderful, when I only guessed?" "Thank you--thank you, Rodney." "It's only a poor little ring--a love token, to mark you as my own--that's all. But one day I'll give you the finest ring that money can buy, and you can put it in the place of this." "As if I ever would--or could! Rodney, this is the most beautiful ring I have ever seen--ever, ever, ever! And it always will be the most beautiful ring in the world--to me. No other will ever take its place." Her voice fell as she moved a little closer to him. "I shall hope to be still wearing it when I am lying in my grave." "Dear love!" He took her in his arms and kissed her again, as it were, solemnly. He was practised in all varieties of the art. And they were silent. CHAPTER XIX THE FEW WORDS AT THE END OF THE EVENING There were five of them at dinner--the lovers, the lady's father, her two hostesses--the Misses Claughton. These were cousins of her mother. Miss Claughton was tall and straight and prim; Miss Nancy Claughton, the younger sister, was stout and tender. Both ladies were disposed to make a fuss of Rodney, to invest him with a sort of halo, as if, in asking Stella to be his wife, he had done something which marked him out as an unusual young man. Mr. Austin's inclination was towards jocosity. Rodney had long since decided that a sense of humour was not that gentleman's strongest point. Dry he could be, he had rather an effective trick of it; but funny--no. His persistent efforts to be funny did not improve the flavour of what, from the young gentleman's point of view, was a sufficiently homely repast. The soup was doubtful, one could not be sure if it was meant to be clear or thick; the cod was boiled to rags--and, anyhow, he hated cod; the mutton was overdone; the sweets were suited to the nursery. Under the circumstances it was perhaps as well that, between Mr. Austin's jokes, the question chiefly discussed was where they should dine on the morrow. It was some consolation, Rodney felt, that there was a prospect of a decent meal after the passage of another four-and-twenty hours. The gentlemen did not remain at table when the feast was done; Mr. Austin was a teetotaller, and Rodney, when he had tasted Miss Claughton's claret, wished he was; so there was no temptation to linger over the wine. In the drawing-room they had "music." Stella played and sang. Rodney, whose taste in music was as fastidious as in other things, would have been content had she done neither. She had not got a bad little voice; from the point of view of those who liked little voices of the kind; but he had always been of opinion that it was worth more to the professors of singing than to anybody else.