For a moment he seemed to loom towards kissing her, but she averted this danger by a business-like concern for his bag. He entrusted this to a porter, and reverted to the triumph of overnight so soon as they were clear of the station. He was overflowing with kindliness towards his fellow humorists, who had appeared in force and very generously at the banquet, and had said the most charming things--some of which were in one report and some in another, and some the reporters had missed altogether--some of the kindliest. "It's a pleasant feeling to think that a lot of good fellows think you are a good fellow," said Mr. Magnet. He became solicitous for her. How had she got on while he was away? She asked him how one was likely to get on at Buryhamstreet; monoplanes didn't fall every day, and as she said that it occurred to her she was behaving meanly. But he was going on to his next topic before she could qualify. "I've got something in my pocket," he remarked, and playfully: "Guess." She did, but she wouldn't. She had a curious sinking of the heart. "I want you to see it before anyone else," he said. "Then if you don't like it, it can go back. It's a sapphire." He was feeling nervously in his pockets and then the little box was in her hand. She hesitated to open it. It made everything so dreadfully concrete. And this time the sense of meanness was altogether acuter. He'd bought this in London; he'd brought it down, hoping for her approval. Yes, it was--horrid. But what was she to do? "It's--awfully pretty," she said with the glittering symbol in her hand, and indeed he had gone to one of those artistic women who are reviving and improving upon the rich old Roman designs. "It's so beautifully made." "I'm so glad you like it. You really _do_ like it?" "I don't deserve it." "Oh! But you _do_ like it?" "Enormously." "Ah! I spent an hour in choosing it." She could see him. She felt as though she had picked his pocket. "Only I don't deserve it, Mr. Magnet. Indeed I don't. I feel I am taking it on false pretences." "Nonsense, Magsy. Nonsense! Slip it on your finger, girl." "But I don't," she insisted. He took the box from her, pocketed it and seized her hand. She drew it away from him. "No!" she said. "I feel like a cheat. You know, I don't--I'm sure I don't love----" "I'll love enough for two," he said, and got her hand again. "No!" he said at her gesture, "you'll wear it. Why shouldn't you?" And so Marjorie came back along the vicarage avenue with his ring upon her hand. And Mr. Pope was evidently very glad to see him....