Charlotte had a thought. "No--I've SOME things."
"Then why don't you bring them?"
The girl weighed it. "Would you come to my room?"
"No," said Mrs. Guy--"bring them to-night to mine."
So Charlotte, at the evening's end, after candlesticks
had flickered through brown old passages bedward,
arrived at her friend's door with the burden of her aunt's
relics. But she promptly expressed a fear. "Are they too
garish?"
When she had poured them out on the sofa Mrs. Guy
was but a minute, before the glass, in clapping on the
diadem. "Awfully jolly--we can do Ivanhoe!"
"But they're only glass and tin."
"Larger than life they are, RATHER!--which is exactly
what's wanted for tableaux. OUR jewels, for historic
scenes, don't tell--the real thing falls short. Rowena must
have rubies as big as eggs. Leave them with me," Mrs.
Guy continued--"they'll inspire me. Good-night."
The next morning she was in fact--yet very strangely-inspired. "Yes, I'LL do Rowena. But I don't, my dear,
understand."
"Understand what?"
Mrs. Guy gave a very lighted stare. "How you come to
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HYLAND
