"Oh, how I'll look after him," was her thought."He shall never be unhappy again."They crossed the street together, and stood for a moment close together on the kerb in the middle way as though they were quite alone in the world.She caught his arm and they ran before a charging motor-'bus, laughing.People turned back and looked at them, so happy they seemed.They walked up Bond Street and Martin drew her into a jeweller's.She had never possessed any ornament except her coral necklace in all her life and she knew now for the first time how terribly she liked beautiful things.It was useless of her to pretend that she did not know that he was going to give her something.She did not pretend.A very thin old man, who looked like one of the prophets, drawn out of the wilderness and clothed by the most fashionable of London tailors, looking over their shoulders as he talked to them because he saw at once that they were not customers who were likely to add very much to his shop's exchequer, produced a large tray, full of rings that glittered and sparkled and danced as though they'd been told to show themselves off to the best possible advantage.But for Maggie at once there was only one possible ring.It was a thin hoop of gold with three small pearls set in the middle of it; nothing very especial about it, it was in fact less striking than almost any other ring in the tray.Maggie looked at the ring and the ring looked at Maggie.It was as though the ring said, "I shall belong to you whether you take me or no.""Now," said Martin with a little catch in his throat, "you make your choice, Maggie." He was not a millionaire, but he did honestly intend that whatever ring she chose she should have.
"Oh," said Maggie, whispering because the shop was so large and the prophet so indifferent, "don't you think you'd better choose?"At the same time she felt the anxious gaze of the three little pearls upon her.
"No," said Martin, "I want to give you what you'd like.""I'd like what you'd like," said Maggie, still whispering.
At this banality the prophet made a little impatient movement as though he really could not be expected to stand waiting there for ever.Also a magnificent lady, in furs so rich that you could see nothing of her but her powdered nose, was waving ropes of pearls about in a blase manner very close to them, and Maggie had a strange, entirely unreasonable fear that this splendour would suddenly turn round and snatch the little pearl ring and go off with it.
"I'd like that one," said Maggie, pointing.She heard the prophet sniff his contempt, but she did not care.
Martin, although he would willingly have given her the most gorgeous ring in the shop, was delighted to find that her taste was so good, and like herself.He had great ideas about taste, some of his secret fears had been lest her strange uncouth upbringing should have caused her to like gaudy things.He could have hugged her before them all when she chose that particular ring, which he had himself noticed as the prettiest and neatest there.
"Just see whether it fits, darling," he said.At the word "darling"the prophet cast another despairing look about the shop, as though he knew well the length of time that lovers could take over these things if they once put their hearts into it.Maggie was ashamed of her stubby finger as she put her hand forward--but the ring fitted exactly.
"That's right," said Martin, "Now we'll have this put into a case.""How wonderful he is," thought Maggie.Not as other women might have thought, "I wonder how many times he's done this before." Maggie thought then that it would be more proper to retire a little so that she should not know the price--and she stood in the doorway of the shop, looking upon the wind and weather in Bond Street and the magnificent motor car that belonged to the lady with the pearls and a magnificent chauffeur, who was so superior that it was probable that the lady with the pearls belonged to him--and she saw none of these things, but was conscious of herself and Martin wrapt together in a mist of happiness that no outside force could penetrate.
As they walked away from the shop she said: "Of course I won't be able to wear it."He put the little square box, wrapped in tissue paper, into her hand, and answered: "You can wear it on a ribbon under your dress.""Oh yes," she whispered, pressing his hand for a moment.
They did not climb on to a 'bus that morning, but walked ahead blindly, blissfully, they did not know whither.They were now in wild days at the end of November and the weather was tempestuous, the wind blowing with a screaming fury and black clouds scudding across the sky like portents.Little heavy drops of rain fell with a sudden urgency as though they were emphasising some secret; figures were swept through the streets and the roar of the wind was so vehement that the traffic seemed to make no sound.And yet nothing happened--no great storm of rain, no devastating flood.It was a day of warning.
They noticed nothing of the weather.It might have been a world of burning sunshine for all they saw of it.
"You know," said Martin, "I've never liked giving any one anything so much as I liked giving you that ring.""I wish I could give you something too," she said.
"Well, you can," he said."Some little thing that I'll carry about with me always...Oh, Maggie!" he went on."Isn't it strange how easy it is to be good when no one worries you.These last ten days with you I couldn't have done anything wrong if I tried.It isn't fair to say we can help ourselves.We can't.Something just comes along and seizes you and makes you do wrong.""Oh, I don't know," said Maggie."Don't let's talk about those things.It's like Mr.Magnus, who says we're treasure hunters or pools of water, or old men in asylums.I don't understand all that.