Both stopped.
"One of my rings," whispered Rose.
Horace stooped and felt over the stone slab, and finally his hand struck the tiny thing.
"It's that queer little flat gold one," continued Rose, who was now serious.
A sudden boldness possessed Horace.

"May I have it ?" he said.
"It's not a bit pretty.

I don't believe you can wear it." Horace slipped the ring on his little finger.

"It just fits." "I don't care," Rose said, hesitatingly.

"Aunt Sylvia gave me the things.