She did not speak to Sarah, and Sarah did not speak to her.
Once, during the night, Sarah woke up; she sat up in bed and stared into
the darkness. Then she smiled to herself. As she lay down again she
thought:
"Now I know that she will bring it."
The next day was very fine, and in the glittering garden by the
fountain, Sarah sat with Hortense, and waited. Soon Mary and her nurse
appeared. Sarah took Mary by the hand and they went away down the
leaf-strewn path.
"Well!" said Sarah.
Mary quite silently felt in her pocket at the back of her short, green
frock, produced the ring, gave it to Sarah, and, still without a word,
turned back down the path and walked to her nurse. She stood there,
clutching a doll in her hand, stared in front of her, and said nothing.
Sarah looked at the ring, smiled, and put it into her pocket.
At that instant the climax of the whole affair struck, like a blow from
some one unseen, upon Sarah's consciousness. She should have been
triumphant. She was not. Her one thought as she looked at the ring was
that she wished Mary had not taken it. She had a strange feeling as
though Mary, soft and heavy and fat, were hanging round her neck.
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