"Oh, thank you, Trevor!" She threw him a quick smile of gratitude. "I will pay you back as soon as ever I can."
"No, it isn't a loan," he said.
"Oh, don't give it me!" Impulsively she broke in upon his words. It was growing strangely easy, this part she had to play. Or had she indeed been bewitched for those few dreadful seconds? Was she in reality herself again, the quick-hearted Chris he knew, and that other woman but a phantom born of the horrible strain she had undergone? She told herself that this was the true explanation, even while in her heart she knew otherwise.
"Don't give it me," she said again. "I would really rather you didn't."
"Why?" he asked.
She put out her hand to him with a little movement of entreaty. "I can't explain. But—I would like to pay it back if you don't mind."
He smiled at her persistence. "No, I don't mind, if you particularly wish it. Now come into my room for a moment. I want to show you something."
She went with him, her hand in his, not willingly but because she could not do otherwise.
He led her to the table, and pointed out a box upon it. "That is for you,
Chris."
"For me!" She looked at him as if startled. "What is it, Trevor?"