“He can, in the rendering of an account for ’Ermes repaired, equally as well use the original Greek.” He threw open the door leading to his little shop, but with no air of inviting her to enter. He wanted to provide a clearer light for her contemplation of the marvel he represented?
The light revealed weakness. Large watery eyes fierce with self-conceit, grown old in unchallenged self-conceit. An angry mouth, tremulous beneath branching buccaneer moustachios. He was waiting for responsive wonder, ready the moment it should be spoken to break forth again. His violence calmed her pity. He was proof against the whole world. Determined to escape she smiled approval and remarked in the voice of departure on the amount of industry represented by the house as a whole.
“Stay,” he cried, “yet one moment,” and disappeared into the shop, to return in an instant with some small object clasped, hidden by his cape, to his breast.
“I have here,” he patted his breast with a free hand, “a small work, a work of my own hands, dedicated as is seeming and suitable, to womankind. Deign, gracious lady, to accept the same as a token of gratitude and esteem for your presence under this roof.” With a deft movement he flung back the cape and presented the hidden object. It was the alabaster finger.
“Oh, no!” Miriam cried. “You must not give me that.” But he was embarrassed, holding it forth, his head bent, his voice once more low and broken.
“Take, take,” he said, “I will not sell it and I shall find no recipient more worthy. Take, I beg you.”
The heavy little block came into her hands. She gazed at it murmuring appreciations, trying to thank him in the way he wanted to be thanked. His eloquence was at an end. He bowed silently at each phrase, saying only, when at last she turned to go, “Lady, I thank you.”
He had said his say.
But what of the future chance meetings? What could she give in return for the burden of this gift, so much heavier than its weight in her hands?