Marise didn't directly answer that question. She pointed to the jewel-cases. "Mrs.—Mooney put these here," she said. "I—wanted to tell you I'm glad they weren't stolen or—anything."
Her words gave him time to swallow his surprise, which was quite as great as her own had been at sight of the jewels. But he guessed at once what had happened. What a trump Zélie was! A grand girl! She'd make a fine wife for someone. He'd been a clumsy ass to force these things upon her in a moment of fury against Marise; and Zélie had done exactly right. He was immensely grateful. Some day he must find a way to repay her for silently handing him a big chance—a chance that might mean a lot, which but for her thought, her generosity, he would have missed.
Well, it was up to him not to miss it now! He'd been an idiot over these baubles once. He mustn't "fall down" over them again; and to let Marise guess how he'd bungled—how a girl she didn't appreciate yet had straightened matters out—would be to prove himself a priceless ass.
"Thank you for saying that," he quietly replied.
"I did tell you once before that I was sorry I'd thrown the jewel-cases on the floor. It was horrid of me. I felt afterwards I'd been most ill-bred," vouchsafed Marise.
"No. More like a bad-tempered child," said Garth.
"You weren't nice to me when I tried to apologise," the girl went on.
"Were you trying to apologise? Sorry! I didn't understand."
"What did you think I was trying to do?"
"Did you ever see a small boy take a stick, and stir up some beast in its cage at a Zoo? If you did, you'll know."