"Oh yes," I said. "I brought home a present for you."
I walked over to the hanger in the corner and pulled the Tiffany packages from my overcoat pocket.
"Here you are, Jimmie Tompkins," I said, "with all my alleged love."
"Alleged is right!" But she picked eagerly at the wrappings and swiftly ferreted out the diamond brooch. "Why, Winnie, it's lovely--" she began, then whirled on me, her eyes blazing. "Is this a joke?" she demanded.
Her laugh was wild. "Oh, nothing, Winnie. Nothing at all. It's just that you should have decided to give _me_--on _her_ birthday--a brooch with her initials in diamonds. See them! V.M.R."
So that's the catch, I thought. I should have guessed there would be something wrong with the set-up and I kicked myself for not having bothered to trace out the monogram.
"Don't you see what I mean," I grated, "or must I spell it out for you? Some time back, when we were considering all this civilized swapping of husbands and wives, I put in the order at Tiffany's for Virginia's birthday present. Today, when I picked it up, the clerk smirked at me--he knows your initials don't begin with V--and I suddenly knew I couldn't go ahead with the whole business. So I brought the brooch back to you as a trophy, if you want it. You can do what you like about it. It's yours. You see, Jimmie," I added, "that's the way things are. I'm burning all my bridges."
"Oh!" she said. Then after a long pause, she added, "Ah!"
"I don't think," she remarked, after another pause, "that I'll want to keep this and I'm far too fond of Virginia Rutherford to humiliate her. I think I'll just take this back to Tiffany's and get something else."
"Here's something else to be going on with," I told her. "I got this for you, anyhow, win, lose or draw"--and I produced the gold bracelet. "I thought it would go with that dress and your cameo and--if you still want to wear it--your wedding ring."
She cast quick glances from side to side, like a bird that suspects a snare.
"It's good," she sighed. "Winnie, it's so good. I guess...."
There was a knock at the door. It was Myrtle-Mary.
"Will the master be staying for dinner, Mrs. Tompkins?" she asked.
"Of course I will, Mary," I said. "Is there enough to eat?"