The idea that McVay was going to give him a present had never crossed Geoffrey’s mind, and now it struck him as so characteristic, so perfectly in keeping with McVay’s consuming desire to triumph in minor matters, that he was able to smile pleasantly and receive it appropriately. He exchanged a glance of real appreciation with the donor, and received a grave bow in return. Cecilia smiled, too, “I don’t know exactly why you should think Mr. Holland wants your picture, Billy,” she said. “It may be of the greatest service to him,” said McVay. The girl turned to Geoffrey. “I can’t make a speech like Billy’s,” she said, “but I have a small present for you which I hope you won’t despise because it is not new. I mean I have worn it myself for some time, and I hope _you_ will now, in remembrance of the time when you sheltered the houseless.” She held out on her pink palm a flat gold pencil with a single topaz set in the top. The thing was of some value and Geoffrey, looking up, caught McVay’s eye in which danced such a delicious merriment that Geoffrey’s half-formed question was answered. McVay was undergoing such paroxysms of delight at the idea that Geoffrey was about to become a receiver of stolen goods that he could not well conceal it. And instinctively Geoffrey drew back his hand. The next moment he realised that he must at once accept the gift with decent gratitude, whatever he might choose to do with it afterward, but unfortunately the girl had noticed his hesitation. She said nothing whatsoever, but she closed her hand on the pencil, rose from the table, and left them to dispose of the remains of the feast as best they could. McVay, as if he had observed nothing, threw himself at once into the part of a waiter, tucked a napkin round his waist, flung another over his arm and began to clear the table. “Wait a moment,” said Geoffrey, who had not followed his example; “I have something to say to you. I see you are in possession of my sentiments in regard to your sister.... I think her a wonder,—that’s all it is necessary for you to know.” “Quite naturally, Holland. She is, she is.” “I won’t discuss that with you. The point is that you seem to be under the impression that this will do you some good. Well, it won’t. You stand just where you did before. You go to jail when the snow melts. Then I settle my affairs.” McVay’s face fell. “Really, Holland,” he said, “I don’t see how, if you are fond of a woman you can want ...” “... to spare her such a brother as you. Think it over.” “There are worse brothers than I,” replied McVay, “how many men would have sacrificed what I have sacrificed in order to keep her comfortably.” “Not many, I hope.” “She is extraordinarily fond of me.” “Perhaps. You see she has not any one else to be fond of.” “We can scarcely say that _now_,” returned McVay encouragingly. “I won’t discuss it with you.” “You can’t mean to tell me that you are in love with my sister and mean to send me to state’s prison?”