" 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. But it is your
Ronald.... 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 private and special things about ourselves. I
love you, Celia, but----"

"That would be a lovely thing," she said, clasping her hands eagerly.

"What?"

"'I love you, Celia.'"

I looked at her aghast.

"Do you want me to order that in cold blood from the shopman?"

"He wouldn't mind. Besides, if he saw us together he'd probably know. You
aren't afraid of a goldsmith, are you?"

"I'm not afraid of any goldsmith living--or goldfish either, if it comes to
that. But I should prefer to be sentimental in some other language than
plain English. I