He tilted forward again as the girl passed his side of the table to reach for the little wooden pattern by which she cut out a patch for the end of the strip, and then passed back again.
"I say," he began again, a trifle awkwardly, "if you don't mind, I want you to give me something in exchange for that locket."
"Oh, do you?" murmured Gwenna. "What?"
And a chill took her.
She didn't want him, here and now, to ask for—what Mr. Ryan might have asked.
But it was not a kiss he asked for, after all.
He said, "You know those little white wings you put in your shoes? You remember, the night of that river dance? Well, I wish you'd let me have one of those to keep as my mascot."
He hadn't thought of wishing it until there had intruded into his ken that other young man who made appointments—and who might have the—cheek to ask for keepsakes, but who shouldn't be first, after all!
Anxiously, as if it were for much more than that feathered trifle of a mascot that he asked, he said, "Will you?"
"Oh! If you like!"