Wenna had quietly slipped the ring off her finger.  She betrayed no emotion at the mention of Mr. Trelyon’s name.  Her face was a trifle red:  that was, all.  “It was a stupid thing to do,” she said, “but I suppose he meant no harm.  Will you send him back the ring?”

“Yes,” she said eagerly.  “Give me the ring, Wenna.”

She carefully wrapped it up in a piece of paper and put it in her pocket.  Any one who knew her would have seen by her face that she meant to give that ring short shrift.  Then she said timidly, “You are not very angry, Wenna?”

“No.  I am sorry I should have vexed Mr. Roscorla by my carelessness.”

“Wenna,” the younger sister continued, even more timidly, “do you know what I’ve heard about rings?—­that when you’ve worn one for some time on a finger, you ought never to leave it off altogether:  I think it affects the circulation, or something of that kind.  Now, if Mr. Trelyon were to send you another ring, just to—­to keep the place of that one until Mr. Roscorla came back—­”

“Mabyn, you must be mad to think of such a thing,” said her sister, looking down.

“Oh yes,” Mabyn said meekly, “I thought you wouldn’t like the notion of Mr. Trelyon giving you a ring.  And so, dear Wenna, I’ve—­I’ve got a ring for you—­you won’t mind taking it from me—­and if you do wear it on the engaged finger, why, that doesn’t matter, don’t you see?”

She produced the ring of dark blue stones, and herself put it on Wenna’s finger.

“Oh, Mabyn,” Wenna said, “how could you be so extravagant?  And just after you gave me that ten shillings for the Leans!”

“You be quiet,” said Mabyn briskly, going off with a light look on her face.

And yet there was some determination about her mouth.  She hastily put on her hat and went out.  She took the path by the hillside over the little harbor, and eventually she reached the face of the black cliff, at the foot of which a gray-green sea was dashing in white masses of foam:  there was not a living thing around her but the choughs and daws, and the white seagulls sailing overhead.

She took out a large sheet of brown paper and placed it on the ground.  Then she sought out a bit of rock weighing about two pounds.  Then she took out the little parcel which contained the emerald ring, tied it up carefully along with the stone in the sheet of brown paper:  finally, she rose up to her full height and heaved the whole into the sea.  A splash down there, and that was all.

She clapped her hands with joy:  “And now, my precious emerald ring, that’s the last of you, I imagine!  And there isn’t much chance of a fish bringing you back, to make mischief with your ugly green stones.”

Then she went home, and wrote this note: 

“EGLOSILYAN, Monday.

DEAR MR. TRELYON:  I have just thrown the emerald ring you gave Wenna into the sea, and she wears the other one now on her engaged finger, but she thinks I bought it.  Did you ever hear of an old-fashioned rhyme that is this?—­

Oh, green is forsaken,
And yellow’s forsworn;
And blue is thesweetest
Color that’s worn.