“The fact is,” Vane went on, with a pretended burst of confidence, “the one you lent me was ruined: so I did get this one instead. Please take it.”
“It is much more valuable than mine,” said she coldly.
“Please take it,” said Vane again, with the iteration of a school-boy.
Miss Thomas began to take offence.
“How can you expect me to do such a thing?” said she, rising as if to dismiss him. Evidently a bold push was necessary. He took the bit of lace and threw it quickly into the open fire, counting on the feminine instinct which would not suffer her to see old lace destroyed. With a little cry, Miss Thomas bent down and pulled it from the coals.
“Let it burn,” said he, rising and putting on his gloves. “If you do not want it, I am sure I do not.” And he silently refused to take the handkerchief, pretending to busy his hands with his hat and cane. “Good-by,” said he.
“Good-by,” replied Miss Thomas, coldly, laying the handkerchief back on the centre-table.
When Vane got to the hall he looked at her a moment in turning to open the front door. She was standing before the fire with a heightened color in her face, whether of a blush or anger he could not tell.