It was a squarish topaz set in a frame of steel, or some other similar mineral, finely wrought.
“Yes,” she said, “I do like it. But why did you buy these rings?”
“I wanted them. They are second-hand.”
“You bought them for yourself?”
“No. Rings look wrong on my hands.”
“Why did you buy them then?”
“I bought them to give to you.”
“But why? Surely you ought to give them to Hermione! You belong to her.”
He did not answer. She remained with the jewels shut in her hand. She wanted to try them on her fingers, but something in her would not let her. And moreover, she was afraid her hands were too large, she shrank from the mortification of a failure to put them on any but her little finger. They travelled in silence through the empty lanes.