He took something, wrapped in tissue-paper, from his pocket and handed it to her. She opened the little parcel and saw a strip of old Venetian lace, worked in the shape of a flounce, for a low bodice.
"Do accept it," he besought her. "It is a lovely piece. It is such a pleasure to me to give it to you."
She looked at him with all her coquetry in her eyes, as though she were trying to see through him.
"You must wear it like this."
He stood up, took the lace and draped it over her white tea-gown from shoulder to shoulder. His fingers fumbled with the folds, his lips just touched her hair.
She thanked him for his gift. He sat down again:
"I am glad that you will accept it."
"Have you given Miss Hope something too?"
He laughed, with his little laugh of conquest:
"Patterns are all she wants, patterns of the queen's ball-dresses. I wouldn't dare to give you patterns. To you I give old lace."