“Does it fly from me to you? Then one can tie a message under its wing when needful.”

He took out the chain⁠—a trifle indeed as to value, but glossy with silk and sparkling with beads. He liked that too⁠—admired it artlessly, like a child.

“For me?”

“Yes, for you.”

“This is the thing you were working at last night?”

“The same.”

“You finished it this morning?”

“I did.”

“You commenced it with the intention that it should be mine?”

“Undoubtedly.”