"My dear Mr. Deane," she said, "it is the natural heritage of a woman to assimilate quickly, especially," she added, after a moment's pause, "amongst surroundings for which she has had a great desire. Many a time when I was typing price-lists in that wretched little office, in a black alpaca gown, with my hat hanging up opposite me,--a black straw with faded flowers, which had cost me three or four shillings, with darned stockings and patched boots,--many a time I have left off typing for a few minutes, and thought and wondered what this must be like. I suppose I have what you would call a natural aptitude for it. It is because I have thought of it, pondered over it, desired it." Deane looked at her wonderingly. "Well," he said, "let me congratulate you. You play the game to perfection. If I were in a position to make terms--" "You are not," she interrupted shortly. "Please to pay the bill. I am going to take you shopping." They left the brougham at the corner of Bond Street. Winifred had signified her desire to walk for a little time. Deane found himself becoming thoroughly interested--not, as he told himself, in his companion herself, but in his study of her. The women they passed she subjected, nearly every one of them, to a close and comprehensive scrutiny. At the men she scarcely glanced. She found, perhaps, her greatest interest in the shop windows. She led him across the road to the establishment of a great jeweller. "You have not given me an engagement ring," she said, a little abruptly. "We will go in and choose one." He followed her obediently into the shop, and stood by her side while she described minutely the sort of ring she required. Her manner inspired instant respect. She knew exactly what she wanted, and what she wanted was the rarest and most beautiful stones, set in the newest fashion. She showed very little enthusiasm--hesitated, even--over the ring which was produced at last, after a little hesitation, and shown almost with reverence. It had been made for a queen, but something had gone wrong--a matter of politics--and they had not dared to part with it. Even Deane stared when the man at his elbow whispered the price, but Winifred never moved a muscle. "I think it will do," she said, turning to him. "It is very nearly what I wanted. And I want a few pins--emeralds and diamonds I prefer." The shopman was already producing a tray from the window. She spoke of pearls, and examined those that were shown her with the air of a connoisseur. "I shall want a rope of pearls very soon," she told the man, "but not just yet. Perhaps you will let Mr. Deane know when you have enough of the ones the color and size I like." "It will give us very great pleasure, madam, to collect them," the man said, bowing.