"You are kind," I replied; "I dare say you mean to be good to me when
you say you have a purchaser for the ring. But I don't want to sell
it."
"Not want to sell it!" Madame Leroy looked me all over from the crown
of my hat to the tips of my shabby boots. Then putting on her pince-nez
she scrutinised my face. I knew perfectly well the thoughts that were
filling her mind. She was saying to herself:--"You are a poor specimen
of humanity, but if I, the great _artiste_, had the dressing of you, I
might make you at least presentable. The idea of a chit like you
presuming to refuse to sell a trinket!"
"I don't want to sell my ring," I said. "But it is possible that I may
lend it to you another evening. Even that I am not sure about. Give it
back to me now, please."