I noticed it, because I had heard the girls say that Miss Reade never wore rings, not liking them.

It was not a new ring; it was handsome, but of an old-fashioned design and setting, with a glint of diamonds about a central sapphire.
Later on, when Miss Reade had gone, I asked the Story Girl if she had noticed the ring.

She nodded, but seemed disinclined to say more about it.
"Look here, Sara," I said, "there's something about that ring--something you know." "I told you once there was a story growing but you would have to wait until it was fully grown," she answered.
"Is Miss Reade going to marry anybody--anybody we know ?" I persisted.
"Curiosity killed a cat," observed the Story Girl coolly.

"Miss Reade hasn't told me that she was going to marry anybody.

You will find out all that is good for you to know in due time." When the Story Girl put on grown-up airs I did not like her so well, and I dropped the subject with a dignity that seemed to amuse her mightily.
She had been away for a week, visiting cousins in Markdale, and she had come home with a new treasure-trove of stories, most of which she had heard from the old sailors of Markdale Harbour.