“If you refuse, I shall feel that you think I have been trying to pay you for your help—and that you flung the payment back. Nobody could find a real payment for what you and Mr. Westenhanger have done. This isn’t payment, Miss Cressage. It’s a thank-offering, if you care to put it in that way. I still hope you won’t refuse.”
Eileen saw the pain in the old man’s eyes.
“I ought to refuse,” she said, hesitatingly.
Then, after another look at Rollo’s face, she added:
“But I can understand how you feel. I’ll take your gift, though it’s far too valuable. And I’ll do with it just as you wish. We needn’t pretend to misunderstand each other, need we? I’ll sell some of the stones and clear my own feet, just as you’re going to clear yours. And I’ll wear the ring to remind me of Friocksheim, though I won’t need it for that.”
She took the pendant and examined it, thoughtfully.
“It’s a lovely thing . . . I feel rather tongue-tied, Mr. Dangerfield,” she confessed with a smile.
“I’m glad to hear that,” he smiled in response. “You’ll understand better now, how I felt myself not many minutes ago.”
And with that he brushed her thanks aside.
“There’s one thing you can do, Miss Cressage. Come back often to Friocksheim. I shall look forward to your coming. You’re one of us, now, and not merely a visitor; for you know more about our affairs than some of our family ever knew. You, too, Westenhanger. We’re going to need young people about the place, since we shall be losing Helga. . . .”