"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 could order '_Cara sposa_', or--or '_Spaghetti_,' or
anything like that, without a tremor."
"But of course you shall put just whatever you like. Only--only let it be
original. Not Mizpahs."
"Right," I said.
For three days I wandered past gold-and-silversmiths with the ring in my
pocket ... and for three days Celia went about without a wedding-ring, and,
for all I know, without even her marriage-lines in her muff. And on the
fourth day I walked boldly in.
"I want," I said, "a wedding-ring engraved," and I felt in my pockets. "Not
initials," I said, and I felt in some more pockets, "but--but----" I tried
the trousers pockets again. "Well, look here, I'll be quite frank with you.
I--er--want----" I fumbled in my ticket-pocket, "I want 'I love you' on
it," and I went through the waistcoat pockets a third time. "I--er--love
you."
"Me?" said the shopman, surprised.
"I love you," I repeated mechanically. "I love you, I love you, I---- Well,
look here, perhaps I'd better go back and get the ring."
On the next day I was there again; but there was a different man behind the
counter.
"I want this ring engraved," I said.
"Certainly. What shall we put?"
I had felt the question coming. I had a sort of instinct that he would ask
me that. But I couldn't get the words out again.
"Well," I hesitated, "I--er--well."
"Ladies often like the date put in. When is it to be?"
"When is what to be?"
"The wedding," he smiled.
"It has been," I said. "It's all over. You're too late for it."
I gave myself up to thought. At all costs I must be original. There must be
something on Celia's wedding-ring that had never been on any other's....
There was only one thing I could think of.
* * * * *
The engraved ring arrived as we were at tea a few days later, and I had a
sudden overwhelming fear that Celia would not be pleased. I saw that I must
explain it to her. After all, there was a distinguished precedent.
"Come into the bath-room a moment," I said, and I led the way.
She followed, wondering.
"What is that?" I asked, pointing to a blue thing on the floor.
"The bath-mat," she said, surprised.
"And what is written on it?"
"Why--'bath-mat,' of course."
"Of course," I said ... and I handed her the wedding-ring.