“But, my dear boy, you can’t possibly ask the girl outright to pay for her own engagement ring!” said Mrs. Friedberg, in astonishment. “Whatever would she think of you?” “Of course I can’t,” he answered laughingly. “But I’ll manage it somehow, never fear.” When Celia returned, he drew her aside into the back drawing-room; and after a short preliminary speech, which voiced some very excellent sentiments (according to his own ideas), he produced the ring. Celia blushed rosy red as he placed it on her finger; and her colour deepened still further when he sealed the compact with a hearty kiss. She hoped he did not intend to indulge in much lovemaking of this sort. She ought to have liked it, but she did not, and it made her feel quite uncomfortable. “To think that, after to-morrow, I shall not see you for a whole three weeks!” he exclaimed, with a deep sigh. “How ever shall I be able to exist all that time without you?” “The same as you did before you knew me, I suppose,” she answered, holding her left hand up, so that the diamonds caught the light and glittered in the sun. “By-the-by, David, I should very much like to give you a little present as a memento of this occasion, and I don’t quite know what to get for you.” His eyes sparkled eagerly, and he almost made a hasty answer, but managed to control himself in time. “As long as I have you, my darling,” he answered, pressing her hand, “I want nothing in the world besides. You have given me the best present possible, Celia--yourself.” “And I admit I am a handful,” she returned, smiling. “But still I want you to accept a little souvenir, David, just to please me. What shall it be? An umbrella, or a card-case, or a pair of cuff-links?” He rose from his chair at her side, and strode nervously about the room. Celia was still examining her ring, and did not see his face. “Well, as you are so anxious to give me a present, dearest,” he said, after due consideration, “I should like something that has already been a sort of amulet to me--I mean your gold nugget. Of course, I don’t want it for its intrinsic value; but it is a curiosity, and has a history attached to it--it came from California, in the first place--and there is nothing you could give me that would please me more.” If he had expected her to grant his request with alacrity he was mistaken. Sitting down to the piano she played a little _arpeggio_ passage; then veered round on the music-stool, and faced him. “I’m so sorry, David,” she began, apologetically, “but I am afraid I cannot give you that. Isn’t there anything else you would like? You see it is so very valuable, and----” “And I suppose it’s too good for me,” he put in hastily. “I am sorry I asked for it, but I thought you gave me my choice. And it isn’t really of any use to you, Celia, so you might as well give it to me as keep it locked up in Mr. Friedberg’s safe.”