“Oh, Stefan, my dearest—'the little white bird'!” she cried.
“Do you like it, darling?” he asked delightedly, his arms about her. “Mrs. Elliot told me about Barrie's white bird—I hadn't known the story. But I wanted to show you I was glad about ours,” he held her close, “and directly she spoke of the bird, I thought of this. She went with me to get those little things—” he waved at the tree—“some of them are from her. But the picture was quite my own idea. It's right, isn't it? What you would feel, I mean? I tried to get inside your heart.”
She nodded, her eyes shining with tears. She could find no words to tell him how deeply she was touched. Her half-formed doubts were swept away—he was her own dear man, kind and comprehending. She took the little painting and sat with it on her knee, poring over it, Stefan standing by delighted at his success. Then he remembered his own parcels. The larger he opened first, and instantly donned one of the two knitted ties it held, proclaiming its golden brown vastly becoming. The smaller parcel contained a tiny jeweler's box, and in it Stefan found an old and heavy seal ring of pure design, set with a transparent greenish stone, which bore the intaglio of a winged head. He was enchanted.
“Mary, you wonder,” he cried. “You must have created this—you couldn't just have found it. It symbolizes what you have given me—sums up all that you are!” and he kissed her rapturously.
“Oh, Stefan,” she answered, “it is all perfect, for your gift symbolizes what you have brought to me!”
“Yes, darling, but not all I am to you, I hope,” he replied, rubbing his cheek against hers.
“Foolish one,” she smiled back at him.
They spent a completely happy day, rejoicing in the successful attempt of each to penetrate the other's mind. They had never, even on their honeymoon, felt more at one. Later, Mary asked him about the missing sketch.
“Yes, I sold it for the bird's trappings,” he answered gleefully; “wasn't it clever of me? But don't ask me for the horrid details, and don't tell me a word about my wonderful ring. I prefer to consider that you fetched it from Olympus.”
And Mary, whose practical conscience had given her sharp twinges over her extravagance, was glad to let it rest at that.