He started slightly, and in a moment he set her free, leaving the case in
her hold. "_Eh bien!_" he said lightly. "That is understood. You like my
pearls, _cherie_?"
"I love--anything--that comes from you," she made low reply. "But
these--but these--I ought not to take these."
"But why not?" he questioned. "May I not make you a present? Are you
not--my wife?"
"Yes." More faintly came Toby's answer. "But--but--but--a wife is
different. A wife--does not need--presents."
"_Mais vraiment!_" protested Saltash. "So a wife is different!
How--different, _mignonne_?"
He tried to look into the downcast eyes, but she would not raise them.
She was trembling a little. "Such things as these," she said, under her
breath, "are what a man would give to--to--to the woman he loves."
"And so you think they are unsuitable for--my wife?" questioned Saltash,
with a whimsical look on his dark face.
She did not answer him, only mutely held out the case, still without
looking at him.
He stood for a second or two, watching her, an odd flame coming and going
in his eyes; then abruptly he moved, picked up the pearls from their
case, straightened them dexterously, and clasped them about her neck.
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