“I was wondering,” she said, with a convulsive choke in her throat, “whether you’ll like my present.”
“I expect I will,” he said, busy at the moment with the brushing of Hamlet.
“Because,” she went on, “there were two things, and I couldn’t make up my mind which, and I asked Helen, and she said the first one, because you might have a cold any time and it would be good in the snow; but we don’t have snow here much, so I thought the other would be better, because you do like pictures, don’t you, Jeremy, and sometimes the pictures are lovely—so I got that, and now I don’t know whether you’ll like it.”
Jeremy had no reply to make to this.
“Oh, now you’ve guessed what it is.”
“No, I haven’t,” said Jeremy quite truthfully.
“Oh, I’m so glad,” Mary sighed with relief. “Have you got all your presents?”
“Yes, all of them,” said Jeremy, drawing himself up and gazing with dreamy pride over Hamlet’s head.
“Shall I like mine?” asked Mary, her eyes glistening.
“Awfully,” said Jeremy. “You’ll like it,” he said slowly, “better than anything you’ve ever been given.”