“Is Jimmy here?” she asked.
“No, no. He sent it with a most wonderful letter. Just a few lines—but—oh! To-morrow’s my birthday. He asked me to take this back for a birthday remembrance, because it was impossible for him to think of my hand without it. I was to think of it as his birthday message—and not as binding me to any promise given in the past. Just as if I don’t want to be bound!”
She pressed the stone against her lips.
Mrs. Larry laughed a trifle uncertainly.
“A man’s way of admitting he was wrong and saying he’s sorry.”
“But why do you suppose he did it? How did he know that I wouldn’t send it straight back to him?”
“Oh, a man will usually take a chance—and he loves you, which is the most important thing, after all,” affirmed Mrs. Larry, as she recalled certain letters in the farthest drawer of Aunt Abigail’s old secretary. “Do you think you’ll be able to do some investigating with me to-morrow? I want to look into the cost of groceries, but, perhaps after the dance, you’ll be too tired——”
“Tired? I don’t think I can ever be tired again. And I’ll be here at eight in the morning.”
“No, you won’t,” said Mrs. Larry positively. “I can’t be ready that early. Make it nine.”
“All right,” said Claire, as she drew her wrap over her shoulders. Then she kissed Mrs. Larry good night—and flitted off.