"probably the limp was affected,
the beard false, the hair a wig, and the face rouged--very clumsy
indeed. I daresay he'll appear pale and gentlemanly the next time he
watches me. I know the tricks of these fellows."

The two friends talked for some time about this episode, and then
branched off into other subjects. Hay described the married lady he
adored, and Paul rebuked him for entertaining such a passion. "It's not
right, Hay," said he, positively; "you can't respect a woman who runs
away from her husband."

"She hasn't run away yet, Sir Galahad," laughed Grexon. "By Jove, you
are an innocent!"

"If that means respecting the institution of marriage and adoring women
as angels I hope I'll remain an innocent."

"Oh, women are angels, of course," said Hay as they walked down Gwynne
Street; "it's a stock phrase in love-making. But there are angels of two
sorts. Dulcinea is--"

"Here we are," interrupted Paul, quickly. Somehow it irritated him to
hear this hardened sinner speak of Sylvia, and he began to think that
Grexon Hay had deteriorated. Not that he was considered to be
particularly good at Torrington school. In fact, Paul remembered that he
had been thoroughly disliked. However, he had no time to go into the
matter, for at this moment Aaron appeared at the door of the shop. He
stepped out on to the pavement as Paul approached. "Come in," he said,
"I want to see you--privately," he added, casting a frightened look at
Hay.

"In that case I'll leave you," said Grexon, disengaging his arm from
Paul. "Dulcinea must wait for another occasion. Go in and do your
business. I'll wait without."

Paul thanked his friend by a look and went into the shop with the old
man. "That brooch," said Aaron, in a timid whisper, "have you got it?
Give it to me--quick--quick."

There was no one in the shop as Bart had apparently gone out on an
errand. The door leading to the stairs, down which Sylvia had so often
descended, was closed, and no one was about to overhear their
conversation. "I have the brooch," said Paul, "but--"

"Give it to me--give it," panted Aaron. "I'll buy it--at a large price.
Ask what you want."

"Why are you so eager to get it?" demanded Beecot, astonished.

"That's my business," said Norman, in a suddenly imperious manner. "I
want it. The stones take my fancy," he ended weakly.

"Was that why you fainted?" asked Paul, suspiciously.

"No." The man grew white and leaned against the counter, breathin