Hugh hesitated. She looked at him.
“No,” he said at last.—“You never wanted them.”
“That is very unkind; when you know I was frightened out of my wits. Do give me them.”
“They are not worth giving you. Besides, I have not got them. I don’t carry them in my pocket. They are in the escritoire. I couldn’t leave them lying about. Never mind them.”
“I have a right to them,” she said, looking up at him slyly and shyly.
“Well, I gave you them, and you did not think them worth keeping. I kept my part of the bargain.”
She looked annoyed.
“Never mind, dear Euphra; you shall have them, or anything else I have;—the brain that made them, if you like.”
“Was it only the brain that had to do with the making of them?”
“Perhaps the heart too; but you have that already.”