"Its origin's lost in the night of time--it has
no history except that I've used it. But I assure you that I do want to
give you something. I've never given you anything."

She was silent a little. "The exhibition you're making," she seriously
sighed at last, "of your inconstancy and superficiality! All the relics
of you that I've treasured and that I supposed at the time to have meant
something!"

"The 'relics'? Have you a lock of my hair?" Then as her meaning came to
him: "Oh little Christmas things? Have you really kept them?"

"Laid away in a drawer of their own--done up in pink paper."

"I know what you're coming to," Vanderbank said. "You've given ME
things, and you're trying to convict me of having lost the sweet sense
of them. But you can't do it. Where my heart's concerned I'm a walking
reliquary. Pink paper? _I_ use gold paper--and the finest of all,
the gold paper of the mind." He gave a flip with a fingernail to his
cigarette and looked at its quickened fire; after which he pursued very
familiarly, but with a kindness that of itself qualified the mere humour
of the thing: "Don't talk, my dear child, as if you didn't really know
me for the best friend you have in the world." As soon as he had spoken
he pulled out his watch, so that if his words had led to something of a
pause this movement offered a pretext for breaking it. Nanda asked the
hour and, on his replying "Five-fifteen," remarked that there would now
be tea on the terrace with every one gathered at it. "Then shall we go
and join them?" her companion demanded.

He had made, however, no other motion, and when after hesitating she
said "Yes, with pleasure" it was also without a change of position. "I
like this," she inconsequently added.

"So do I awfully. Tea on the terrace," Vanderbank went on, "isn't 'in'
it. But who's here?"

"Oh every one. All your set."

"Mine? Have I still a set--with the universal vagabondism you accuse me
of?"

"Well then Mitchy's--whoever they are."

"And nobody of yours?"

"Oh yes," Nanda said, "all mine. He must at least have arrived by this
time. My set's Mr. Longdon," she explained. "He's all of it now."

"Then where in the world am I?"

"Oh you're an extra. There are always extras."

"A complete set and one over?" Vanderbank laughed. "Where then's Tishy?"

Charming and grave, the girl thought a moment. "She's in Paris with
her mother--on their way to Aix-les-Bains." Then with impatience she
continued: