“What are these for?” she asked.
“You may as well have them—commissions for the coach.”
“For me?” Jinny said, touched.
“Yes, I’d be obliged if you helped me out.”
“Oh, Will!” Her voice was as broken as his pride seemed to be. But his mood was less of meekness than of self-scourging.
“Well, you said the coach service had broken down,” he reminded her.
“I didn’t mean to twit you—I’m sorry——”
“What for? You told me I’d get stuck and come to you to pull me out.”
“But I’m so sorry, really. Poor Snowdrop! Poor Cherry-blossom!”
“Didn’t you call it a funeral coach? Good-bye, you’ve got the treasure.”