Meanwhile, as these
thoughts flitted through his brain, she moved gently from his embrace
and smiled proudly, yet sweetly.
"Worthy of me?" she said softly and wonderingly. "It is I that will pray
to be made worthy of _you_! You must not put it wrongly, Philip!"
He made no answer, but looked at her as she stood before him, majestic
as a young empress in her straight, unadorned white gown.
"Thelma!" he said suddenly, "do you know how lovely you are?"
"Yes!" she answered simply; "I know it, because I am like my mother. But
it is not anything to be beautiful,--unless one is loved,--and then it
is different! I feel much more beautiful now, since you think me
pleasant to look at!"
Philip laughed and caught her hand. "What a child you are!" he said.
"Now let me see this little finger." And he loosened from his
watch-chain a half-hoop ring of brilliants. "This belonged to _my_
mother, Thelma," he continued gently, "and since her death I have always
carried it about with me. I resolved never to part with it, except to--"
He paused and slipped it on the third finger of her left hand, where it
sparkled bravely.
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