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Updated: May 2, 2025
Brainard took the radiant face between her soft, white, ringless hands and kissed it as a mother might. In no time at all the hour had come for the visitors to go to their train. In spite of their protests Brown would have a cab come for them, though it took him some minutes to get one in a quarter of the city where such luxury was rare.
The woman who entered in a perfectly white gown of some clinging material, with a single row of pearls around her neck, with ringless fingers and plainly coiled hair, seemed like the ghost of her own girlhood.
"Unless," continued Brown, "you think I had better remain somewhere on the premises until your maid arrives." "That might be safer," said Betty, more thoughtfully. "Your maid will probably be here in a few minutes." "Probably," said Betty, head bent, slim, ringless fingers busy with the sparkling drop that glimmered pendant from her neckchain.
"I should like to please you, Sir Victor what, then, shall it be?" "Yes! a thousand times, yes! Edith, my love my love yes!" She was smiling still she looked him frankly in the eyes as no woman on earth, in such an hour, ever looked at the man she loved. She laid in his one slim, brown, ringless hand. "Since you wish it so much, Sir Victor, let it be as you please. Yes!"
When I asked for it back again, the day afterwards, she said she had mislaid it." "But was the letter of any importance?" he asked. "There wasn't much in it, of course," she answered, "but it was a private letter." "It is infamous!" he declared. "I should give information to the police at once." She held out her hands tiny little white hands, ringless and soft.
Her eyes were black and very frank, her lips thin and slightly severe, her nose regular and slightly inclined to the left, and her hands ringless, large, and almost like those of a man, but with finely tapering fingers. She wore a dark-blue dress fastened to the throat and sitting closely to her firm, still youthful waist a waist which she evidently pinched.
I glanced cautiously across at her, conscious of my cheap clothing, and vaguely wondering why my usual off-hand address had so suddenly failed. I felt embarrassed, unable to break the silence by any sensible utterance. My eyes rested upon her hands, white, slender, ringless.
She laid her ringless hands, lightly clasped, on a small, heavy, round mahogany table which stood in the middle of the little drawing-room, and she looked over James's shoulder into the vistas of the great drawing-room. The sombre, fading magnificence of the Wilbrahams a magnificence of dark woods, tasselled curtains, reps, and gilt was her theatre, and the theatre suited her mood.
The hand looked so strange. Oh, her hand, her hand! Once ringless indeed, once her own to give, to stretch forth in pledge of the heart's imperishable faith! Now a prisoner for ever; but, thus ringless, so like a maiden hand once more. There came a foolish sense of ease. She would keep her finger free yet a little, perhaps through the service. She bent forward and laid the ring on the open book.
People at her table decided that she couldn't be going out as a governess or she would hardly be travelling first class, and yet she did not look of the sort who globe-trot all by themselves. Rather tall, slender without being thin, she moved well. Her ringless hands were smooth and prettily shaped, so were her slim feet, and always singularly well-shod.
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