She kissed it; she had not been the first to kiss it.
It was "Oh, how I wish I could have saved you this pain!" "But I love it," she cried, "and I love the pain." It was "Am I not to see it on your finger once ?" "No, no; we must not." "Let me, Grizel!" "Is it right, oh, is it right ?" "Only this once!" "Very well!" "I dare not, Grizel, I can't! What are we to do with it now ?" "Give it to me.

It is mine.

I will keep it, beside my glove." "Let me keep it, Grizel." "No; it is mine." "Shall I fling it away ?" "How can you be so cruel?
It is mine." "Let me bury it." "It is mine." And of course she had got her way.

Could he resist her in anything?
They had never spoken of it since, it was such a sad little ring.

Sad! It was not in the least little bit sad.