"I don't think that at all. Who ever heard of making a present to a young lady in money. Ayala is romantic, and that would have been the most unromantic thing out. That would not have done me the least good in the world. It would simply have gone to buy boots and petticoats and such like. A girl would never be brought to think of her lover merely by putting on a pair of boots. When she fastens such a necklace as this round her throat he ought to have a chance. Don't you think so, Aunt Dosett?"
"Tom, shall I tell you something?" said the aunt.
"What is it, Aunt Dosett?"
"I don't believe that you have a chance."
"Do you mean that?" he asked, sorrowfully.
"I do."
"You think that the necklace will do no good?"
"Not the least. Of course I will offer it to her if you wish it, because her uncle and I quite approve of you as a husband for Ayala. But I am bound to tell you the truth. I do not think the necklace will do you any good." Then he sat silent for a time, meditating upon his condition. It might be imprudent;—it might be a wrong done to his father to jeopardise the necklace. How could it be if Ayala were to take the necklace and not to take him? "Am I to give it?" she asked.
"Yes," said he, bravely, but with a sigh; "give it her all the same."
"From you or from Sir Thomas?"