“I—I brought the wrong one?” he said awkwardly.
“Yes.”
“It was the one you gave me.”
“Oh, no! it was not. This one is real lace.”
“The—the washerwoman must have made a mistake.”
Miss Thomas said nothing.
“You must keep it all the same, Miss Thomas.”
“I cannot keep what belongs to other people,” said she unappreciatively.
Vane bit his lips. “I—I will make it right with the washerwoman,” said he clumsily.
Miss Thomas’s look was more hopelessly unsympathetic than ever; and, folding the bit of lace, she laid it on the table by his elbow.