She was standing in the door—and about her was a long grey coat lined with fur—the coat of the alcove. Her eyes looked at him over the soft fur of the collar.
He sprang to his feet—then he checked the word on his lip.
He must not let her speak. It was the coat of the alcove. She would wear it silently. But she would not tell him. She must not be frightened into saying something that was not true. He came over to her and touched the edge of the fur, as if questioning it, and she smiled and opened it out. “Is it warm enough?” she asked proudly.
She stood with the garment extended like wings, and he held his breath.
Then she drew it together softly.
“I have had it some time,” she said. “I was keeping it to surprise you!”
His breath came quick. How much would she tell him? He looked at it critically. “Was it a bargain?” he asked..
“No—Not a bargain.” And she stroked the edge of the fur. “I saw it and liked it—and I got it.”
“That’s right. That’s the way to buy all your clothes.” He looked at it a minute lightly and turned away.
She could not have guessed from his gesture that he was disappointed, but her eyes followed him. “I hope you won’t think I paid too much—for it?”