"
"I remember," said Ethne, interrupting him rather hastily, "about
seeing much of one another--afterwards. We will not speak of such things
again," and Feversham swayed upon his feet as though he would fall. "I
remember, too, you said one could make mistakes. You were right; I was
wrong. One can do more than seem to make them. Will you, if you please,
take back your ring?"
Feversham picked up the ring and held it in the palm of his hand,
standing very still. He had never cared for her so much, he had never
recognised her value so thoroughly, as at this moment when he lost her.
She gleamed in the quiet room, wonderful, most wonderful, from the
bright flowers in her hair to the white slipper on her foot. It was
incredible to him that he should ever have won her. Yet he had, and
disloyally had lost her. Then her voice broke in again upon his
reflections.
"These, too, are yours. Will you take them, please?"
She was pointing with her fan to the feathers upon the table. Feversham
obediently reached out his hand, and then drew it back in surprise.
"There are four," he said.
Ethne did not reply, and looking at her fan Feversham understood. It was
a fan of ivory and white feathers.
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