It was done, and she gasped as a gleam of gold and a coloured gleam met her eyes. “My!” she said. “They’re real—and it’s for me?”
Clavering smiled a little, and taking her fingers lightly closed them on the case.
“Of course,” he said. “Well, you’re pleased with it?”
The sparkle in the girl’s eyes and the little flush in her face was plain enough, but the man’s soft laugh was perfectly genuine. It was scarcely a gift he had made her; but while he expected that the outlay upon the trinket would be repaid him, he could be generous when it suited him, and was quite aware that a less costly lure would have served his purpose equally. He also knew when it was advisable to offer something more tasteful than the obtrusive dollar.
“Oh,” said the girl, “it’s just lovely!”
Clavering, who had discretion, did not look round, but, though he kept his dark eyes on his companion’s face, he listened carefully. He could hear the wind outside, and the crackle of the stove, but nothing else, and knew that the footsteps of anyone approaching would ring tolerably distinctly down the corridor behind the hall. He also remembered that the big door nearest them was shut.
“Well,” he said, “it wouldn’t do to put anything that wasn’t pretty on a neck like that, and I wonder if you would let me fix it.”
The girl made no protest; but though she saw the admiration in the man’s dark eyes as she covertly looked up, it would have pleased her better had he been a trifle more clumsy. His words and glances were usually bold enough, but, as he clasped the little brooch on, his fingers were almost irritatingly deft and steady. Men, she knew, did not make fools of themselves from a purely artistic appreciation of feminine comeliness.
“Now,” she said, slipping away from him with a blush, “I wonder what you expect for this.”
Clavering’s eyebrows went up and there was a faint assumption of haughtiness in his face, which became it.