“Yes, really,” Mr. Williams assured her solemnly.
“But I couldn’t! It’s too lovely—I mean to say, really it is!”
“No, it isn’t, Elsie. You must please put it on, and let me have the pleasure of seeing you wear it.”
“Put it on for me, then,” murmured Elsie, glancing up at him, and then down again.
He took the ornament from her with hands that fumbled. “Where?”
“Just here.”
She indicated the round neck of her transparent blouse, just below the collar-bone.
He stuck the pin in clumsily enough, and she stifled a little scream as it pricked her, but remained passive under his slowly-moving, dry-skinned fingers.
“There! I’m sorry there isn’t a looking-glass, Elsie.”
“Oh, I’ve got one! Don’t look, though!”