"I've brought you a bracelet," he said abruptly. "I hope you'll like it." He took a little box from his pocket, "I got it in Edinburgh coming down—I thought it was rather pretty."
He held the case to her. "Well, don't you want it?"
"Thank you, Chris; of course, I do! Thank you, very much." She opened the snap and gave a little exclamation of pleasure; the bracelet was designed like a wreath of small water lilies, the petals made of platinum, with a diamond in the heart of each flower.
"It's very pretty," she said. "Thank you so much."
But she made no attempt to take it from the case or slip it on her wrist, and with a little impatient movement he took it from her.
"Come here," he said. "Hold out your hand."
She did so, and he snapped the bracelet on to her arm.
"It's very pretty," said Marie, but she did not dare to raise her eyes to her husband's face. The touch of his hand on her arm had communicated to her something of his old magnetism, and she knew 184 that she was trembling in every limb.
Then, suddenly, before she could guess at his intention, Chris had caught her in his arms, and was kissing her passionately, bringing stinging patches of crimson to her white face, and almost robbing her of breath.
Then he held her at arm's length, his handsome face flushed, and his eyes very bright and triumphant.