She proffered it to Miss Reade and, as the
latter took it into her singularly slender, beautiful hand, I saw
a ring on her third finger. I noticed it, because I had heard the
girls say that Miss Reade never wore rings, not liking them. It
was not a new ring; it was handsome, but of an old-fashioned
design and setting, with a glint of diamonds about a central
sapphire. Later on, when Miss Reade had gone, I asked the Story
Girl if she had noticed the ring. She nodded, but seemed
disinclined to say more about it.
"Look here, Sara," I said, "there's something about that ring--
something you know."
"I told you once there was a story growing but you would have to
wait until it was fully grown," she answered.
"Is Miss Reade going to marry anybody--anybody we know?" I persisted.
"Curiosity killed a cat," observed the Story Girl coolly. "Miss
Reade hasn't told me that she was going to marry anybody. You
will find out all that is good for you to know in due time."
When the Story Girl put on grown-up airs I did not like her so
well, and I dropped the subject with a dignity that seemed to
amuse her mightily.
She had been away for a week, visiting cousins in Markdale, and
she had come home with a new treasure-trove of stories, most of
which she had heard from the old sailors of Markdale Harbour.
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