"At any rate," added the long man as an afterthought, "I have the ring. It will be a rare gift for Anna."
Jorian looked ruefully at his dagger, holding it between the rustling alder leaves, so as to catch the light from the watchfires. The red glow fell on a jewel in the hilt.
"'Tis a pretty toy enough, but how can I give that to Marthe? It is not a fit keepsake for a lady!"
"Well," said Boris, suddenly appeased, "I will swop you for it. I am not so sure that my pretty spitfire would not rather have it than any ring I could give her. Shall we exchange?"
"But we promised to keep them as souvenirs?" urged Jorian, whose conscience smote him slightly. "One does not tell lies to a lady—at least where one can help it."
"It depends upon the lady!" said Boris practically. "You can tell your Marthe the truth. I will please myself with Anna. Hand over the dagger."
So wholly devoid of sentiment are war-captains when they deal with keepsakes.