They were indeed splendid pearls--so far as poor
Charlotte could feel that she knew, after what had come
and gone, about such mysteries. The poor girl had a
sickly smile. "They're almost as fine as Arthur's."
"Almost? Where, my dear, are your eyes? They ARE
'Arthur's'!" After which, to meet the flood of crimson that
accompanied her young friend's start: "I tracked them-after your folly, and, by miraculous luck, recognised them
in the Bond Street window to which he had disposed of
them."
"DISPOSED of them?" Charlotte gasped. "He wrote me
that I had insulted his mother and that the people had
shown him he was right--had pronounced them utter
paste."
Mrs. Guy gave a stare. "Ah I told you he wouldn't bear
it! No. But I had, I assure you," she wound up, "to drive
my bargain!"
Charlotte scarce heard or saw; she was full of her private
wrong. "He wrote me," she panted, "that he had smashed
them."
Mrs. Guy could only wonder and pity. "He's really morbid!"
But it wasn't quite clear which of the pair she pitied;
though the young person employed in Eaton Square
felt really morbid too after they had separated and she
found herself full of thought. She even went the length of
asking herself what sort of a bargain Mrs. Guy had driven
32
HYLAND
