The last thing she saw in his eyes was the anguish of rejection. His fingers closed around the symbol of all he had hoped for, and he took it with him out the door.

The next morning when she stepped outside to retrieve her newspaper from the summer lawn, the long-slanting light of sunrise glinted on the dew. But one spot gleamed brighter than the rest . . . something shining there in the grass. She leaned over to pick it up.

Cool from the dampness, devoid of last night’s passion, it felt comfortable in her hand in a way it never would have on her finger. Surely, he must have hurled it down in frustration and dismay. Now it rested on her palm, and her finger traced the silver circle until it stopped upon the tiny diamond.

It wasn’t a valuable ring, but she knew she ought to return it to him. Having refused it last night, how could she keep it now? Its greater worth had been in some unformed future, dimly imagined, but only in his imagination, not hers.

She carried the ring inside and set it down, thinking he might call to ask about it. Days passed and she heard nothing from him. That was good, she thought. He had given up on her and she wouldn’t have to keep disappointing him.

But she had his ring. She hadn’t accepted it, true enough, and yet he did offer it. Yes, think of that. He wanted her to marry him, and the ring would be hers, and she would be his. But no, she didn’t want to belong to him or to anyone else, because that would concede some measure of ownership. Even so, the idea of the offer itself . . . that was truly something.

As the weeks went by, she considered mailing the ring back to him, but always put it off. From time to time, she held the ring in her fingers, gazing in silent wonder at what she had acquired. Or she would clasp the ring snugly between her hands, as if she might absorb its significance. In those moments she kept thinking that even though she would never, and could never, give herself to someone else’s dream, how wonderful it was to be the object of so rich a sentiment.

Eventually she found a little box for the ring and put it in a bureau drawer. It was then she decided she would keep the ring, even if he called for it. But he never did.

Year followed year, and on days when everything in her life seemed dark, and during nights when she was all alone, she opened the drawer and opened the box and remembered the brilliance of the ring on the morning she found it. And she took comfort, even joy, in knowing she had value and that long ago . . . longer and longer ago . . . someone loved her.