But instantly she had pulled off her gloves, and with busy fingers unclasped the necklace; then she touched it with her lips, and placed the whole of the warm and scented treasure in his hand. "I only wanted one of the beads, Maisrie," said he, with something of shamefacedness. "Take it, Vincent—I have not many things to give," she said, simply. "Then—then would you wear something if I gave it to you?" he asked. "Oh, yes, if you would like that," she answered at once. "Oh, well, I must try to get something nice—something appropriate," said he. "I wonder if a Brighton jeweller could make me a small white dove in ivory or mother-of-pearl, that you could wear just as if it had alighted on your breast—a pin, you know, for your neck—and the pin could be made of a row of rubies or sapphires—while the dove itself would be white." "But, Vincent," she said, doubtingly, "if I were to wear that?" "What would it mean? Is that what you ask? Shall I tell you, Maisrie? It would mean a betrothal!" She shrank back. "No—no," she said. "No—I could not wear that!" "Oh, are you frightened by a word?" said he, cheerfully. "Very well—very well—it shan’t mean anything of the kind! It will only serve to remind you of a morning on which you and I went for a little stroll down a breakwater at Brighton, when the Brighton people were so kind as to leave it all to ourselves. Nothing more than that, Maisrie!—if you wish it. Only you must wear the little white dove—as an emblem of peace and goodwill—and a messenger bringing you good news—and a lot of things like that, that I’m too stupid to put into words. For this is a morning not to be forgotten by either of us, all our lives long, I hope. You think you have not said anything?—then you shouldn’t have such tell-tale eyes, Maisrie! And I believe them. I don’t believe you when you talk about vague impossibilities. Well, I suppose I must let you go; and I suppose we cannot say good-bye—out here in the open——" "But you are coming, too, Vincent—a little way?" "As far as ever you will allow me," said he. "Till the end of life, if you like—and as I hope." But that was looking too far ahead in the present circumstances. "What are you going to do to-day, Maisrie?" he asked, as they were leaving the breakwater and making up for the Marine Parade. "Oh, I forgot: you are going out walking at eleven." She blushed slightly. "No, Vincent; I think I shall remain at home." "On a morning like this?—impossible! Why, you must go out in the sunlight. Sunlight is rare in December." Then she said, with some little embarrassment, "I do not wish to vex you any more, Vincent. If I went out with grandfather, we should meet Mr. Glover——"