And, without waiting for her permission, he entered the porch, and settled himself comfortably on the bench opposite to her, heaving a sigh of relief as he did so. Thelma remained standing--and the Lutheran minister's covetous eye glanced greedily over the sweeping curves of her queenly figure, the dazzling whiteness of her slim arched throat, and the glitter of her rich hair. She was silent--and there was something in her manner as she confronted him that made it difficult for Mr. Dyceworthy to speak. He hummed and hawed several times, and settled his stiff collar once or twice as though it hurt him; finally he said with an evident effort--
"I have found a--a--trinket of yours--a trifling toy--which, perhaps, you would be glad to have again." And he drew carefully out of his waistcoat pocket, a small parcel wrapped up in tissue paper, which he undid with his fat fingers, thus displaying the little crucifix he had kept so long in his possession. "Concerning this," he went on, holding it up before her, "I am grievously troubled,--and would fain say a few necessary words--"
She interrupted him, reaching out her hand for the cross as she spoke.
"That was my mother's crucifix," she said in solemn, infinitely tender accents, with a mist as of unshed tears in her sweet blue eyes. "It was round her neck when she died. I knew I had lost it, and was very unhappy about it. I do thank you with all my heart for bringing it back to me!"
And the hauteur of her face relaxed, and her smile--that sudden sweet smile of hers,--shone forth like a gleam of sunshine athwart a cloud.
Mr. Dyceworthy's breath came and went with curious rapidity. His visage grew pale, and a clammy dew broke out upon his forehead. He took the hand she held out,--a fair, soft hand with a pink palm like an upcurled shell,--and laid the little cross within it, and still retaining his hold of her, he stammeringly observed--
"Then we are friends, Fröken Thelma! . . . good friends, I hope?"
She withdrew her fingers quickly from his hot, moist clasp, and her bright smile vanished.
"I do not see that at all!" she replied frigidly. "Friendship is very rare. To be friends, one must have similar tastes and sympathies,--many things which we have not,--and which we shall never have. I am slow to call any person my friend."