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as to make a ring, with a plait of hair in the centre, very conspicuous on one of his fingers.
“I never saw you wear a ring before, Edward,” she cried. “Is that Fanny’s hair? I remember her promising to give you some. But I should have thought her hair had been darker.”
Marianne spoke inconsiderately what she really felt—but when she saw how much she had pained Edward, her own vexation at her want of thought could not be surpassed by his. He coloured very deeply, and giving a momentary glance at Elinor, replied, “Yes; it is my sister’s hair. The setting always casts a different shade on it you know.”
Elinor had met his eye, and looked conscious likewise. That the hair was her own, she instantaneously felt
as
