He answered: "I was just going to ask Marie what she'd like for it."
"There are a lot of things she'd like," Mrs. Amber began.
That same evening, when Grannie Amber had rolled up the purple petticoat into her workbag and departed, he asked Marie, as they sat together over the fire:
"What would you like for your birthday, my dear?"
A great pleasure shone in her face as she gazed at him.
"Osborn," she stammered, "can you afford to give me a present at all?"
"I should hope so," he replied.
An eagerness, which he had not seen there for a long while, invaded her face; it was an eagerness of pleasure at his remembrance, at his wish to be kind and to give her happiness. About the gift she was not so precious; she hoped it would be small, and she said, almost reverentially:
"I'd rather you chose, dear."
"I'd been thinking," said Osborn, who had thought of it during dinner, "that you might like to be taken out. How would that do for a present? Of course I'd like to do both—to take you out and give you a swagger gift—but we know it can't be done, don't we?"