“So at any rate you have made a start, and begun to earn money already.”
“Oh, that’s nothing new. I was never quite broke;” and, diving into his pocket, he produced a little parcel, which he tossed into her lap.
“For me?”
“For who else?”
He watched her attentively as she untied the narrow bit of red and yellow ribbon, unfolded a flat box, and discovered a beautiful plaque or clasp in old Spanish paste. The design was exquisite, and the ornament flashed like a coruscation of Brazilian diamonds.
“Oh, Owen, how perfect!” she gasped; “but how dare you? It must have cost a fortune—as much as your passage money,” and she looked up at him interrogatively.
“Never mind; it was a bargain. I picked it up in a queer, poky little shop, and it’s real old, old Spanish—time of Ferdinand and Isabella they said—and I felt I’d like to take something home to you; it will look jolly well on black, eh?”
“Do you know it’s just the sort of thing that I have been aching to possess,” she said, now holding it against her gown. “If you had searched for a year you couldn’t have given me anything I liked so much—so beautiful in itself, so rare and ancient, and so uncommon that not one of my dear friends can copy it. Oh, it’s a treasure”—standing up to look at her reflection as she held the jewel against her bodice—“but all the same, it was wicked of you to buy it!”
“There are only the two of us, Sis, and why shouldn’t I give myself that pleasure?”
“What a pretty speech!” and she patted his arm approvingly.