"You see it fits—perfectly," she said, looking up pathetically.
"Then—Good Lord! why do you bring it back?"
She unclasped it, letting it lie in the palm of her hand, half-stretched out towards him.
"Because I mustn't accept it—I can't. If, after the last time I was here, when you said good-bye, you'd said to me you were going to buy it, I should have told you that I would not take it."
He paid no attention to her outstretched hand. At her eyes he looked.
"Why not? Why particularly after I'd said good-bye?"
"Because you have no right to give it me, and I have less right to accept it."
He half-laughed. "Isn't that rather childish?"
"I don't think so."
"But do you like it? Isn't it a sort of thing you'd like?"