Rose told me once that I could get a lot of money
for it."
Swiftly flushing, her brows knitted, the din about them evidently adding to
her perturbation, Mrs. Upton, with a sharpness of utterance that Jack had
never heard from her, said: "Your sapphire ring? Your grandmother's ring?
Indeed, indeed, Imogen, I must ask you not to do that!"
"Why, mama dear, why?" Imogen's surprise was genuine and an answering
severity was checked by Jack's presence.
"It was my mother's ring."
"But what better use could I make of it, mama? I rarely wear any ring but
the beautiful pearl that papa gave me."
"I couldn't bear to have you sell it."
"But, mama dear, why? I must ask it. How can I sacrifice so much for a mere
whim?"
"I must ask you to yield to a mere whim, then. Pray give up the thought. We
will find the money in some other way."
"Of course, mama, if you insist, I must yield," Imogen said, sinking
back in her seat beside the attentive Jack, and hoping that her mournful
acquiescence might show in its true light to him, even if her mother's
sentimental selfishness didn't. And later, when he very prettily insisted
on himself entertaining the club-girls at the Philharmonic, she felt that,
after all, no one but her mother had lost in the encounter. The girls were
to have their concert (though they might have had many such, had not her
mother so robbed them, there was still that wound) and she was to keep her
ring; and she was not sorry for that, for it did go well with the pearl.
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