She was silent with displeasure, knowing him to be well aware that she possessed none. He passed behind her, however, picked up the box that he had brought in with him, and put it into her hands.
"It is my presentation gift," he said, a little wistfully.
"Claude!" she whispered, without lifting the cover.
"Open it—open and put it on. It is growing late."
Quite breathless now, she opened the box, and gave a low exclamation. Julie shrieked with rapture, and Claude, reading his wife's expression, was satisfied with the reception of his gift.
"Oh, they are much—much more beautiful than Virginia's!" murmured Deborah, as, half afraid to touch them, she lifted the jewels from the box. They consisted of three rows of white pearls, clasped with a larger one, the first string passing just comfortably about her throat, the second somewhat longer, and the third touching the lace edge of her dress. The ornament was simple enough, but the stones needed no pendants to set them off. In size, evenness, and purity they were incomparable. Deborah's heart was touched. He was very kind to her—as kind as any real lover could be. Why must she always remember that she was a secondary object to him? Why could she never forget that he had only brought her here that his exile might be ended?
"Well then—you are pleased?" he asked, still wistfully.
"Oh yes! You are too good to me, Claude."
"A kiss, then?"
As she kissed him gently upon the forehead he seized one of her hands, clasped it tightly for an instant, and then, putting it quickly away from him, let her go. Julie approached with her wraps, and the lackey announced that the coach was waiting.