Anny looked at him in wonderment and he went on:
“Anny, are you tending to accept these—these fripperies, like a common serving-wench, and worse?”
Anny blushed and started; then she looked from her lover to the table and back again.
“Not take them?” she said, her mouth drooping a little at the corners and her eyes growing larger and very bright.
“Of course not!”
Wrapped in the blanket of his youthful virtue the boy felt no sympathy for the despairing glance which the pathetic little girl in front of him cast at her shabby, much-stained kirtle and well-mended bodice.
Anny swallowed something in her throat and blinked her eyes once or twice, her long dark lashes becoming spiky and blacker than before. Then she laughed a little unnaturally and rubbed her hand awkwardly down the sides of her skirt.
“Oh, of course not,” she said, laughing still on a strange high pitch, as she gathered up the finery and put it carefully back into the sail-cloth covering. “Of course not,” she repeated mechanically, never allowing her fingers to stray over the smooth soft surface of the silk or to play amongst the amber beads or ivory ornaments. “There,” she said at last as the last trinket was slipped into the little box, and she looked round, the bright colour still in her cheeks and the forced smile on her lips. “Oh! and the little beast?” she said half questioningly, half agreeing, as she picked up the little carved elephant and looked at it wistfully.
“And the little beast,” said Hal firmly.
Anny sighed and slipped it in with the others, then tied up the sail-cloth with a firm hand.