“Ochanorie! They are the lovely rings any way.”
“They might be better; they would need to be much better, my dear, to be good enough for you.”
“For me!”
“They're yours—for a kiss or two,” and he put out an arm to wind round the girl's waist.
Marseli drew back and put up her chin and down her brows.
“'Stad!” she cried. “We ken the worth of fairy gifts in these parts. Your rings are, likely enough, but chuckie-stones if I could but see them. Take them back, I must be going home.”
The little man took the jewels with a hot face and a laugh.
“Troth,” he said, “and the same fal-fals have done a lover's business with more credit to them before this. There are dames in France who would give their souls for them—and the one they belong to.”
“You have travelled?” said Marseli. “Of course a sea-fairy-”
“Can travel as he likes. You are not far wrong, my dear. Well, well, I ken France! O France, France! round and about the cold world, where's your equal?”