Raymond was overcome with embarrassment. She saw him looking at
her hair; her hair which was her greatest beauty, and which when
undone was luxuriant enough to reach below her waist. He had often
expressed his admiration for it.
"What would you like?" she asked again.
"Oh, anything," he faltered. "A--a book!"
She could not restrain her laughter. A book! She laughed and
laughed. She seemed carried away by an extraordinary merriment.
Raymond thought he had never heard a woman laugh like that before.
It made him feel very badly. He wondered what it was that had made
his request so ridiculous. He thanked his stars that he had held
his tongue about the other thing. Ah, what a fool he had been! He
could not have borne it, had the other been received with the same
derision.
"I shall give you my prayer-book," she said at last, wiping her
eyes and looking less amused than he had expected. "I've had it
many years and value it dearly. It is prettily bound in Russia,
and if you carry it on the proper place romance will see that it
stops a bullet--though a Bible, I believe, is the more correct."
Somehow her tone sounded less cordial. She had withdrawn her
hands, and her humour, at such a moment, jarred on him. In spite
of his good resolutions he had managed to put his foot into it
after all. Perhaps she had begun to suspect his secret and was
displeased. He departed feeling utterly wretched and out of heart,
and got very scant comfort from his book, for it only reminded him
of how seriously he had compromised himself.
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