It was a rose-shaped, beautiful sapphire, with small brilliants.
“Yes,” she said, “it is lovely.” She held it in the light. “Yes, perhaps it is the best—”
“The blue—” he said.
He suddenly swung the car out of the way of a farm-cart. It tilted on the bank. He was a careless driver, yet very quick. But Ursula was frightened. There was always that something regardless in him which terrified her. She suddenly felt he might kill her, by making some dreadful accident with the motor-car. For a moment she was stony with fear.
“Isn’t it rather dangerous, the way you drive?” she asked him.
“No, it isn’t dangerous,” he said. And then, after a pause: “Don’t you like the yellow ring at all?”