“Be my friend and it shall be yours when we return from the sea. I bought it for you—for you; real, real gold too, of the best quality—and such an exquisite turquoise! You needn’t be ashamed to wear this wherever you appear—even when, by-and-by, you are married to some rich, great man, you can still wear the little bracelet—the very best of its kind. See, I will write your name now before your eyes on the little box.” Brenda took up a pencil and hastily wrote the following words on the back of the box: “Fanchon Amberley’s gold and turquoise bracelet.”
“Why don’t you say that you have given it to me?” said Fanchon.
“No, no—I can add that by-and-by. If people happen to ask you the story about it, it may not be wise for it to appear that such a beautiful thing was given to you by a poor governess. Well now, here it is back again in the drawer, and you can go to bed, Fanchon. You are a very rich girl, and I am not quite as bad as you painted me, am I?”
“No, no!” said Fanchon, who was completely won over, “you’re a darling!”
“Not a cat,” whispered Brenda—“not a horrid pussy-cat?”
“No—a darling, and my friend,” said Fanchon and then she left the room a little giddily, for the thought of the bracelet seemed to weigh her down with uncontrollable bliss; she scarcely understood her own sensations.