it fell off in the course of the
afternoon, which seemed to break the spell somehow. So now it goes off
and on just like any other ring. I took it from her and looked inside.

"There are all sorts of things here too," I said. "Really, you don't seem
to have read your wedding-ring at all. Or, anyhow, you've been skipping."

"There's nothing," said Celia in the same mournful voice. "I do think you
might have put something."

I went and sat on the arm of her chair, and held the ring up.

"You're an ungrateful wife," I said, "after all the trouble I took. Now
look there," and I pointed with a pencil, "what's the first thing you
see?"

"Twenty-two. That's only the--"

"That was your age when you married me. I had it put in at enormous
expense. If you had been eighteen, the man said, or--or nine, it would
have come much cheaper. But no, I would have your exact age. You were
twenty-two and that's what I had engraved on it. Very well. Now what do
you see next to it?"

"A crown."

"Yes. And what does that mean? In the language of--er--crowns it means
'You are my queen.' I insisted on a crown. It would have been cheaper to
have had a lion, which means--er--lions, but I was determined not to
spare myself. For I thought," I went on pathetically, "I quite thought
you would like a crown."

"Oh, I do," cried Celia quickly, "if it really means that." She took the
ring in her hands and looked at it lovingly. "And what's that there? Sort
of a man's head."

I gazed at her sadly.

"You don't recognize it? Has a year of marriage so greatly changed me?
Celia, it is your Ronald! I sat for that, hour after hour, day after day,
for your sake, Celia. It is not a perfect likeness; in the small space
allotted to him the sculptor has hardly done me justice. And there," I
added, "is his initial 'r.' Oh, woman, the amount of thought I spent on
that ring!"

She came a little closer and slipped the ring on my finger.

"Spend a little more," she pleaded. "There's plenty of room. Just have
something nice written in it--something about you and me."

"Like 'Pisgah'?"

"What does that mean?"

"I don't know. Perhaps it's 'Mizpah,' or 'Ichabod,' or 'Habakkuk.' I'm
sure there's a word you put on rings--I expect they'd know at the shop."

"But I don't want what they know at shops. It must be something quite
private and special."

"But the shop has got to know about it when I tell them. And I don't like
telling strange men in shops priva