"Valuable? It's a mere trifle Mrs. Muir."
"A $500 trifle."
"It wasn't in 1847 – it only cost me a dollar."
Smiling together, he placed the scrimshaw back in her hand. "I only wish my current state allowed for something more than depending upon a small boy to help me share something with you."
Turning the carving over and back again, she let her fingers trail across its surface gently. Still looking down, she asked, "I wonder, if it didn't involve a small boy, one I still need to talk to by the way, what you would have been willing to share?"
"Willing to Madam? Do not confuse what I would be willing to share, to place in your trust versus what I MAY be able to share. I assure you, they are two very different things, but not altogether unconnected, I confess."
She looked up, a warm, gentle look in her eyes that never left his face, as she moved to place the scrimshaw on the mantle. "Indeed," she smiled, "and if they were ever mine to possess, it would be infinitely more valuable than this treasure you made mine today. Do you ever suppose it might be something you could share with me?"
"There is always hope Mrs. Muir, don't you agree?"