"I won't shake hands," she said. "But it's stickiness, not ill-feeling." Roger frowned aside the remark. He was looking excited, extremely pleased with himself, yet a trifle worried. He had the air of a man who had been priding himself on doing the right thing, and is suddenly stricken with doubt as to whether, after all, he had not made a mess of the business. He confronted her. "I expect I've got it wrong," he remarked, with gloomy triumph. "I hate coloured stones myself." "What are you talking about?" demanded Alwynne. "Which is it, anyhow?" "Which is what?" "Which is your favourite stone?" Alwynne gazed at him blankly. "What on earth----?" she began. Roger frowned anew. "Don't argue with me. Which is your favourite stone?" "I don't know--emeralds, I think." He gave a sigh of relief, not entirely make-believe. "Of course! I knew I was right. Elsbeth swore to pearls." "Oh, I've always coveted her string. She's going to give it to me when I'm forty. I'd like to know what you're talking about, Roger, if you don't mind?" "Why forty?" "Years of discretion! You are tidy and never lose anything once you're forty. But why? Were you having a bet?" "Not exactly." Roger searched his pockets. "Here, catch hold!" He had produced a small package, gay with sealing-wax and coloured string. He handed it to her awkwardly, with immense detachment. She opened it curiously. In a little white kid case lay an emerald, round and shining like a safety signal. It was set in silver, quaintly carven. Alwynne exclaimed. "Oh, Roger! How gorgeous! How perfectly ripping! Where did you pick it up? Was it awfully expensive?" Roger had been beaming in a gratified fashion, but at her question his jaw dropped. "Well," he began. "Well--I----" His expression struck her. "Do you mind my asking? It's only because it is so exactly what I've always longed to give Clare. I'm saving. I'm going to, some day. Clare loves emeralds." "Perhaps," said Roger, with elaborate irony, "you'd like to give her this? Don't mind me." She glanced up at him, startled, puzzled. "This?" "It happens to be your engagement ring," he remarked offendedly. Alwynne began to laugh, but a trifle uncertainly. To laugh without accompaniment or encouragement is uneasy work, and Roger's face was entirely expressionless. She felt that her laughter was sounding affected, and ceased abruptly, her foot tapping the floor, a glint of annoyance in her eye. "What are you talking about?" she attacked him. "Your engagement ring, wasn't it?" he said. "Are you by any chance serious?" "Perfectly." Roger's schoolboy awkwardness, due to his encounter with an unexpectedly facetious jeweller, was wearing off. "_My_ engagement ring?" "We'll change it, of course," he said, with maddening politeness, "if you really prefer pearls." "Presupposing an engagement?" Alwynne was on her high horse. "To me. That was the idea, I think. Elsbeth is delighted."