now I'm in disgrace, she won't!" said Robinette.

"Yes, she will!" said Carnaby. "Nothing puts the old lady in such a
heavenly temper as showing off the jewels. Don't you miss it, Cousin
Robin! It's like the Tower of London and Madam Tussaud's rolled into
one, this show, I can assure you. Come on! Come back into the drawing
room. Needn't be afraid when Mark's there!"

Robinette found that a black look or two was all that she had to fear
from Mrs. de Tracy at present, and even these became less severe
under the alchemy of Lavendar's tact. A reminder that an exhibition of
the jewelry had been promised was graciously received. Bates and
Benson were summoned, and armed with innumerable keys, they descended
to subterranean regions where safes were unlocked and jewel-boxes
solemnly brought into the drawing room. Mrs. de Tracy wore an air
almost devotional, as she unlocked the final receptacles with keys
never allowed to leave her own hands.

"If the proceedings had begun with prayer and ended with a hymn, it
wouldn't have surprised me in the least!" Robinette said to herself,
looking silently on. Her silence, luckily for her, was taken for the
speechlessness of awe, and did a good deal to make up, in the eyes of
her august relative, for her late indiscretions. As a matter of fact,
her irreverent thoughts were mostly to the effect that all but the
historical pieces of the Stoke Revel _corbeille_ would be the better
of re-setting by Tiffany or Cartier.

Mrs. de Tracy opened an old shagreen case and the firelight flickered
on the diamonds of a small tiara.

"This is a part of the famous Montmorency set," she announced proudly,
with the tone of a Keeper of Regalia. Then she took out a rope of
pearls ending in tassels. "These belonged to Marie Antoinette," she
said.

An emerald set was next produced, and the emeralds, it was explained,
had once adorned a crown. Deep green they were, encrusted in their
diamond setting; costly, unique; but they left Robinette cold, though
like most American women, she loved precious stones as an adornment.
One of those emeralds, she was thinking, was worth fifty times more
than old Lizzie Prettyman's cottage: the sale of one of them would
have averted that other sale which was to cause so much distress to a
poor harmless old woman.

"When do you wear your jewels, Aunt de Tracy?" she asked gravely.

"I have not worn them since the Admiral's death," was the virtuous
reply, "and I have never