This gift created a warm discussion in the Yorke family, who were almost unanimous against Edith's accepting it. Carl was especially indignant. "Edith is almost a young lady," he said; "and the fellow is presuming in sending her such a present. If he does not know better, he should be taught." Even Mrs. Yorke was disposed to be strict. But when they had all spoken, it was found that Edith had a voice.
They were in the sitting-room with Major Cleaveland, who had just arrived, and Mrs. Yorke was in the centre of the group. She had opened the box, and held the cross up glittering against her white hand. Edith had not touched it. She stood beside her aunt's chair, and listened while the discussion went on. Her eyes were cast down, and she seemed perfectly quiet; but, while she listened, into her usually pale cheeks a color grew, deepening from pink to a glowing crimson.
"I shall not refuse Dick's present," she said decidedly, when they came to a pause; and as she spoke up went her eyelids. Finding that Dick had no other friend but her, that he had enemies, perhaps, that his feelings were not to be counted, instantly she came to the rescue. As her glance flashed swiftly around the circle, it was as though a blade had been swung before their eyes.
"But, my dearest Edith," began Melicent, and then went over the whole argument again in her most suave and convincing manner.
"I know it all," Edith replied firmly. "I know what people consider proper about presents; but this is not a common case. I would not take that cross from Carl, nor from any other gentleman. But Dick is like no one else to me, and he shall not be hurt nor offended. He took pains to get the present, and thought a good deal about it, and brought it over the ocean for me, and was in hopes that I would be pleased; and I will not disappoint him."
Mrs. Yorke took the girl's hand affectionately, the disputed jewel dropping in her lap. "I would not hurt his feelings for the world, my love," she said. "Leave it all to me. I will explain to him so that he cannot be offended."
"Aunt Amy, no one in the world can explain between Dick Rowan and me," said Edith, withdrawing her hand. "You have been good to me, all of you, and I love you, and will obey you when it is right. But this isn't right: it is only what people who know nothing about it think proper. Dick was good to me first of all. Mamma used to have him take care of me when I was a tiny little girl; and, after mamma died, he did everything for me. If I wanted anything, he got it for me if he could; and if I broke his playthings and tore his books, he never scolded me. I remember once I hit him with a stick, and almost put his eye out; and when I cried, he kissed me and said, 'I know you didn't mean to, dear,' before his eye had stopped aching. That was the way he always did. And afterward, when the children laughed at me, because I was poor and queer, and they threw mud and stones at me here in the streets of Seaton, Dick fought them, he alone against the whole. And I never cried but he comforted me. I could not tell all that he did for me, though I should talk a week. I won't turn him off now. If he wanted to die for me, I'd let him; for it would be more than cruel to refuse. So, Aunt Amy, please to give me the cross. I am going to wear it always."
They were all silent at this first outbreak of her who had often won from Carl the greeting of Coriolanus to his wife, "My gracious silence, hail!" No one had the heart to refuse any longer, whatever might be the consequences of yielding.
Edith took the chain, and hung it about her neck, looking down on the cross a moment as it rested on her bosom. "Green means hope," she said.
Carl left the room. No one else said anything. Her address had struck too near home. They might forget the time when she had been poor and homeless, but she was not obliged to; and they could not in conscience quite disentangle her from her past.