"My love, Osmond, my love."
He had turned his look away from her, and feeling the aloofness of that, she fell to trembling. When he began to speak, she stopped him. It seemed to her that he was bringing rejection of her gift, and she could not bear it.
"No," she said, "don't say it."
But he did speak, in that grave, moved tone:—
"That is dear of you. I shall always keep your present, just as grannie will keep your love for her. It's very precious."
Hope and will went out of her. She put her clasped hands on the chair in front of her, and bent her head upon them, trembling.
"What is it?" she said at last, "what is it that has come between us? Is it what you told me once in the playhouse? that you were going to give your life away when you chose?"
He laughed a little, sadly, to himself.
"How long ago that seems!" he mused. "No, it was a different thing I meant then."
"What was it? Tell me, Osmond."