Mary’s pleasure at being made his confidante in this way was much greater than her horror at his crime. Her bosom heaved with gratified importance.
“I’ve done things like that, Jeremy,” she said. “I got six handkerchiefs for Miss Jones one Christmas, and I kept three of them because I got a terrible bad cold just at the time.”
“That’s not so bad,” he said, shaking his head, “because I gave you an old thing that I’d had for years.”
“No,” she interrupted; “I’ve wanted that bottle ever so long. I used to go up to your room and look at it sometimes when you were at school.”
He went to the drawer and produced “Robinson Crusoe” and gave it to her. She accepted it gratefully, but said:
“And now I shall have to give you back the bottle.”
“Oh, no, you won’t.”
“But I can’t have two presents.”
“Yes, you can. I don’t want the old bottle, anyway. I never used it for anything. And now we’ll each have a book, so it won’t be like a present exactly.”
She smiled with pleasure. “Oh, I’m so glad you’re not angry.”