"These watches are very handsome," she said; "too handsome for little girls."
"Oh no!"
"I'm not a little girl," said Val; "I'm—"
"They won't be in keeping, but they are very beautiful."
She was shrivelling up in some unaccountable way.
"I couldn't think," said Ethan, coming forward, "what souvenir I should bring you of France." He drew the package out of his pocket and opened it. "Do you remember how I used to ask you about the French Revolution when I was a child, and all the stories you used to tell me, and how sorry we were for Louis and poor Marie Antoinette? You remember telling me how, when she heard the people were dying for want of bread, she asked, 'Why don't they eat cake?'"
He had opened a box and taken out an enamelled crucifix, from which hung a long chain of small but exquisitely chosen pearls fastened with a jewelled clasp.
"This is something Marie Antoinette wore. I thought you'd like to have it."
"Oh no!" drawing back quickly.
He stared at her. She added, almost nervously: