“You know that I do not. Shall I, who deliberately chose a nurse’s life when an
indulgent uncle’s heart and home were open to me, shrink from braving poverty
with the man I love? We will begin as simply as you please—”
“No,” he peremptorily put in, yet with a certain hesitancy which seemed to
speak of doubts he hardly acknowledged to himself, “I will not marry you if I
must expose you to privation or to the genteel poverty I hate. I love you more
than you realize, and wish to make your life a happy one. I can not give you
all you have been accustomed to in your rich uncle’s house, but if matters
prosper with me, if the chance I have built on succeeds—and it will fail
or succeed tonight—you will have those comforts which love will heighten
into luxuries and—and—”
He was becoming incoherent again, and this time with his eyes fixed elsewhere
than on my face. Following his gaze, I discovered what had distracted his
attention. The lady with the diamond was approaching us on her way to the
alcove. She was accompanied by two gentlemen, both strangers to me, and her
head, sparkling with brilliants, was turning from one to the other with an
indolent grace. I was not surprised that the man at my side quivered and made a
start as if to rise. She was a gorgeous image. In comparison with her imposing
figure in its trailing robe of rich pink velvet, my diminutive frame in its
sea-green gown must have looked as faded and colorless as a half-obliterated
pastel.
“A striking woman,” I remarked as I saw he was not likely to resume the
conversation which her presence had interrupted. “And what a diamond!”
The glance he cast me was peculiar.
“Did you notice it particularly?” he asked.
Astonished, for there was something very uneasy in his manner so that I half
expected to see him rise and join the group he was so eagerly watching without
waiting for my lips to frame a response, I quickly replied:
“It would be difficult not to notice what one would naturally expect to see
only on the breast of a queen. But perhaps she is a queen. I should judge so
from the homage which follows her.”
His eyes sought mine. There was inquiry in them, but it was an inquiry I did
not understand.
“What can you know about diamonds?” he presently demanded. “Nothing but their
glitter, and glitter is not all,—the gem she wears may be a very tawdry
one.”
I flushed with humiliation. He was a dealer in gems—that was his
business—and the check which he had put upon my enthusiasm certainly made
me conscious of my own presumption. Yet I was not disposed to take back my
words. I had had a better opportunity than himself for seeing this remarkable
jewel, and, with the perversity of a somewhat ruffled mood, I burst forth, as
soon as the color had subsided from my cheeks:
“No, no! It is glorious, magnificent. I never saw its like. I doubt if you ever
have, for all your daily acquaintance with jewels. Its value must be enormous.
Who is she? You seem to know her.”
It was a direct question, but I received no reply. Mr. Durand’s eyes had
followed the lady, who had lingered somewhat ostentatiously on the top step and
they did not return to me till she had vanished with her companions behind the
long plush curtain which partly veiled the entrance. By this time he had
forgotten my words, if he had ever heard them and it was with the forced
animation of one whose thoughts are elsewhere that he finally returned to the
old plea:
When would I marry him? If he could offer me a home in a month—and he
would know by to-morrow if he could do so—would I come to him then? He
would not say in a week; that was perhaps to soon; but in a month? Would I not
promise to be his in a month?
What I answered I scarcely recall. His eyes had stolen back to the alcove and
mine had followed them. The gentlemen who had accompanied the lady inside were
coming out again, but others were advancing to take their places, and soon she
was engaged in holding a regular court in this favored retreat.
Why should this interest me? Why should I notice her or look that way at all?
Because Mr. Durand did? Possibly. I remember that for all his ardent
love-making, I felt a little piqued that he should divide his attentions in
this way. Perhaps I thought that for this evening, at least, he might have been
blind to a mere coquette’s fascinations.
I was thus doubly engaged in listening to my lover’s words and in watching the
various gentlemen who went up and down the steps, when a former partner
advanced and reminded me that I had promised him a waltz. Loath to leave Mr.
Durand, yet seeing no way of excusing myself to Mr. Fox, I cast an appealing
glance at the former and was greatly chagrined to find him already on his feet.
“Enjoy your dance,” he cried; “I have a word to say to Mrs. Fairbrother,” and
was gone before my new partner had taken me on his arm.
Was Mrs. Fairbrother the lady with the diamond? Yes; as I turned to enter the
parlor with my partner, I caught a glimpse of Mr. Durand’s tall figure just
disappearing from the step behind the sage-green curtains.
“Who is Mrs. Fairbrother?” I inquired of Mr. Fox at the end of the dance.
Mr. Fox, who is one of society’s perennial beaux, knows everybody.
“She is—well, she was Abner Fairbrother’s wife. You know Fairbrother, the
millionaire who built that curious structure on Eighty-sixth Street. At present
they are living apart—an amicable understanding, I believe. Her diamond
makes her conspicuous. It is one of the most remarkable stones in New York,
perhaps in the United States. Have you observed it?”
“Yes—that is, at a distance. Do you think her very handsome?”
“Mrs. Fairbrother? She’s called so, but she’s not my style.” Here he gave me a
killing glance. “I admire women of mind and heart. They do not need to wear
jewels worth an ordinary man’s fortune.”