"Mourning!" she cried, "why, that would be the very—— No, not mourning, Midgetina. I owe a little to a friend—and not money only," she added with peculiar intensity. "Of course, if you have any doubts about lending it——"
"Give, not lend," said I.
"Yes, but how are we to get at it? I can't lug that thing about, and you say he has the key. Shall we smash it open?"
The question came so hurriedly that I had no time to consider what, besides money—and of course friendship—could be owed to a friend, and especially to a friend that made her clench her teeth on the word.
"Yes, smash it open," I nodded. "It's only a box."
"But such a pretty little box!"
With knees drawn up, and shivering now after my outburst of merriment, I watched her labours. My beloved chest might keep out moth and rust, it was no match for Fanny. She wound up a large stone in her silk scarf. A few heavy and muffled blows, the lock surrendered, and the starlight dripped in like milk from heaven upon my hoard.
"Why, Midgetina," whispered Fanny, delicately counting the notes over between her long, white fingers, "you are richer than I supposed—a female Crœsus. Wasn't it a great risk? I mean," she continued, receiving no answer, "no wonder he was so cautious. And how much may I take?"
It seemed as if an empty space, not of yards but of miles, had suddenly separated us. "All you want," said I.
"But I didn't—I didn't taunt you, now, did I?" she smiled at me, with head inclined to her slim shoulder, as if in mimicry of my ivory Hypnos.