“He is an interesting creature, to my mind,” she said.  “I have always rather liked him.  He has original ideas, though he is not in the least brilliant.  I believe he talks more freely to me, on the whole, than to most people, though I can’t say he has a particularly good opinion of me.  He stuck his glass in his eye and stared at me last night, in that weird way of his, and said to me, ’Maria, in an ingenuous fashion of your own, you are the most abominably selfish woman I ever beheld.’  Still, I know he rather likes me.  I said to him:  ’That isn’t quite true, James.  I am selfish, but I’m not abominably selfish.  Abominably selfish people always have nasty tempers, and no one can accuse me of having a nasty temper.  I have the disposition of a bowl of bread and milk.”

“Emily,”—­as wheels rattled up the avenue,—­“is that the fishmonger’s cart?”

“No,” answered Emily at the window; “it is the butcher.”

“His attitude toward the women here has made my joy,” Lady Maria proceeded, smiling over the deep-sea fishermen’s knitted helmet she had taken up.  “He behaves beautifully to them all, but not one of them has really a leg to stand on as far as he is responsible for it.  But I will tell you something, Emily.”  She paused.

Miss Fox-Seton waited with interested eyes.

“He is thinking of bringing the thing to an end and marrying some woman.  I feel it in my bones.”

“Do you think so?” exclaimed Emily.  “Oh, I can’t help hoping—­” But she paused also.

“You hope it will be Agatha Slade,” Lady Maria ended for her.  “Well, perhaps it will be.  I sometimes think it is Agatha, if it’s any one.  And yet I’m not sure.  One never could be sure with Walderhurst.  He has always had a trick of keeping more than his mouth shut.  I wonder if he could have any other woman up his sleeve?”

“Why do you think—­” began Emily.

Lady Maria laughed.

“For an odd reason.  The Walderhursts have a ridiculously splendid ring in the family, which they have a way of giving to the women they become engaged to.  It’s ridiculous because—­well, because a ruby as big as a trouser’s button is ridiculous.  You can’t get over that.  There is a story connected with this one—­centuries and things, and something about the woman the first Walderhurst had it made for.  She was a Dame Something or Other who had snubbed the King for being forward, and the snubbing was so good for him that he thought she was a saint and gave the ruby for her betrothal.  Well, by the merest accident I found Walderhurst had sent his man to town for it.  It came two days ago.”

“Oh, how interesting!” said Emily, thrilled.  “It must mean something.”

“It is rather a joke.  Wheels again, Emily.  Is that the fishmonger?”

Emily went to the window once more.  “Yes,” she answered, “if his name is Buggle.”

“His name is Buggle,” said Lady Maria, “and we are saved.”