“As for me,” she continued slowly, “I think you have made a mistake.  Whence, mon cher, came this fire in your soul which told you back there in the barren hills that you were not like little men?  May it not be that this genius came to you from some remote ancestor?  May it not be that also into my veins crept some of that fire? Alors! Whether that be true or no, this I do of a certainty believe.  The spirit of fight that is in you, is likewise in me.  You will not find in me the jeune fille who shall obey without knowing why.  My feet are small—­for which I thank le bon Dieu—­but I can stand quite stanchly upon them.  You boast of the princely gifts that you have bestowed upon me.  For those I am not unthankful, but I shall not regard them as the price of blind obedience.  If they have been given in that spirit, you have done for me nothing more than other men have done for—­for their mistresses.”

She ended and stood very calm in her anger while the brother who had never before been successfully defied gazed into her face with an expression of amazement.  Then slowly there came over his own a glow of keen admiration.

He came over and bowed with almost courtly ceremony, then he laughed.

“Mary,” he exclaimed, “we shall fight, you and I, but we shall reign together.  By God, you are my sister!  Not just by coincidence of birth, but by the deeper kinship of our two souls.  Great heavens, girl, since I came here to fight and to win, I’ve been lonely.  It’s not egotism but truth that makes me say this.  I have been a conqueror—­and all conquerors are lonely.  You are mistress here.  Do as you wish.”  He went back to the safe, but he looked up and laughed in a naive and winning fashion that was quite irresistible.

“By the way,” he suggested, “are you going to do me the honor to breakfast with me hereafter?”

The girl laughed, too, and her eyes were as serenely gracious as a queen’s may afford to be when, of her own will, she makes a royal concession.

“Yes, I shall breakfast with you, mon cher brother,” she replied.  Then she added with perfect mimicry of his own overbearing voice, “It’s a trifle whether I breakfast in bed or not.  It is vital that you remember who is mistress of this house. C’est moi!”

A moment later, the man whose frown carried punishment for his adversaries and whose smile was so frank and winning for his friends, stood before his sister, watching her eyes as eagerly as a schoolboy while he opened the satin case and held out to her the string of pearls.

“Mary,” he said simply, “I’m not a man that curries favor with women.  Paul looks after that gentle art for this family.  You are the only girl I care about.  When I give presents to a woman, it will be to you.  There is no other woman in New York who could wear that rope of pearls and not look as if the pearls were wearing her.  On your throat they are what jewels should always be—­a subordinate decoration; partly eclipsed stars.  I thought you might like them.”