“Yes,” said Lily, smiling; “I think it is the prettiest little box I’ve ever seen!”
He opened it, and showed her engraved inside the lid the words, “Mon cœur à toi. Ma vie au Roi.”
“Say!” he exclaimed. “Will you have it? Just as a souvenir, you know!”
Lily shook her head. She could not take so costly a gift from a complete stranger.
“I know it’s good,” went on her companion quickly, “for a chap who they say is a big Paris curiosity-dealer offered me five hundred francs for it this afternoon. I got it in a queer way. A poor old soul whom I noticed playing at the Rooms—the sort of woman who isn’t up to Club form—came up to me last evening and asked if I’d give her a hundred francs for it. I’m sorry now that I only gave her that much! It must be worth a good bit more than five hundred francs if a dealer offered that for it.”
He was still holding out the little shagreen case. “Look here,” he exclaimed again, “you take it—do!”
Lily shook her head decidedly. “I shouldn’t care to have anything so valuable, for I’ve no place to keep anything of that sort here,” she said a little awkwardly. “I’ve even had to ask the Countess to keep the money I brought from England.”
“Is that so?” he exclaimed. “But this little box isn’t as valuable as all that! Do take it, Miss Fairfield.”
But Lily shook her head again, even more decidedly than before. “Honestly, I’d rather not,” she said firmly.
“All right! I’ll just give it to the next pretty girl I meet.” He looked hurt and angry.