“Is that----?”
“Yes,” she replied, her hand going softly to her breast. “I cut it out
of a group, but he didn’t give it to me. You don’t mind if I don’t show
it to you, do you, Mr. Butterfield? You don’t know what it is to lose
anybody--like that.”
“You forget I am losing a sister, Aggie,” I answered. She thought a
moment, and then made a sudden resolve. She spoke softly and almost
mechanically.
“I think I will tell you, Mr. Butterfield. I wouldn’t tell”--she looked
round--“any one else, but--I trust you, Mr. Butterfield. I haven’t given
Caroline my present yet--I haven’t made up my mind. I’ve got two, a
handkerchief case, and--this. I could give her the handkerchief
case--anybody can give handkerchief cases--or the other. Anybody
wouldn’t give the other. I can’t keep it, Mr. Butterfield. Look.”
She glanced round, and drew the small locket from her neck and opened
it. It was Bassishaw’s portrait, a poor, ragged production, cut out, as
she had said, from some larger picture. I half glanced at it,
understanding without looking.
“It is worth more than a handkerchief case,” she continued, speaking
very low, “and I know Caroline would value it more, if I told her. If
anybody did that to me I should--I should love them. Wouldn’t you, Mr.
Butterfield?”
I made no reply. Poor Aggie! She was only sixteen, and would get over
it; but it was real to her, and she was very brave. She went on:
“And that’s why I don’t like all these things, Mr. Butterfield. What
would you do?”
Mrs. Carmichael was signalling for me across the room. I rose and took
Aggie’s hand.
“My dear,” I replied, “you have a truer instinct in these things than I.
Whatever you do will be right, I know; and a fat, blundering man would
spoil it. We sit together at breakfast to-morrow. I’m very glad.”
And, in response to Mrs. Carmichael’s imperious summons, I left her and
plunged again into the general bewilderment.
Shortly afterwards I heard Mrs. Vicars’s voice.
“Oh, look, Caroline, what a _sweet_ handkerchief case Agnes there has
given you!”