"I assure you, I expected nothing of the kind," he replied, a trifle indignantly. "Why should I? As it is, I am doubtful whether I ought to accept it."
"Why should I?" Lottie echoed with a merry laugh. "That's like you. But, unless you wish to hurt and wrong sincere friends very much, I advise you to keep it and do as they say. You are so exceedingly proud or humble—which shall I call it?—that I fear you neither expect, nor will take anything from me."
"Here is a queer-looking parcel for Frank Hemstead," said Mr.
Dimmerly, with his chuckling laugh.
With intense delight Lottie saw the student hesitate, and his hand tremble as he slowly began to open it.
"It's not a torpedo, or an infernal machine, that you need be in such trepidation," she whispered. "It won't go off."
"Is it from you?"
"Look and see."
It was a sermon holder, of rich, plain morocco without, but within, most elaborately embroidered. Most prominent among the rare and dainty devices was a single oar.
The expression of his face repaid her, as he examined it with a comical blending of reverence and affection, such as a devout Catholic would manifest towards a relic. In the blade of the oar were worked, with the most exquisite fineness, the words, "A True Knight." Within an inner pocket, where they could not be readily seen, were the words,
"With the thanks of Lottie Marsden."