change and
open air life were imperative; a sea voyage would be best. If such a
change were not made, and soon, he would not be answerable for the
consequences.

All this John retold in softened form to Miriam in the waiting room. "We
might as well give it up," she said resignedly. "Of course we can't
travel. We haven't the money, and you can't get away." With the nearest
approach to pride he had ever shown in a nonaesthetic matter John
protested that he could get away, and better yet that there was money,
five hundred good dollars, more than enough for a glimpse at the Azores
and Gibraltar, a hint of rocky Sardinia, a day at Naples, a quiet
fortnight on the sunny Genoese Riviera, and then home again by the long
sea route. His thin voice rose as he pictured the voyage. Even she
caught something of his spirits, and as they got off the car near
Novelli's, by a sudden inspiration John said, "Now for being a good
girl, and doing what the doctor says, you shall see the most beautiful
thing in New York."

In a minute Novelli was carefully taking the precious thing from its
drawer and solemnly unfolding the square of ruby velvet in which it lay.
Miriam saw the rigid Christ, at the left Mary Mother in azure enamel, at
the right the Beloved Apostle in Crimson. From the top God Father sent
down the pearly dove through the blue. Below, a stately pelican offered
its bleeding breast to the eager bills of its young. And it all glowed
translucently within its sharp Gothic mouldings. Behind, the design was
simpler--in enamelled discs the symbols of the evangelists. St. Lucy's
knuckle lay visible under a crystal lens at the crossing, and surely
relic of a saint was seldom encased more splendidly. Even pathetic Miriam
kindled to it. "Yes, it is the most beautiful thing in New York," she
admitted. "I suppose it costs a fortune, Mr. Novelli." "No, a mere
nothing, for it, six hundred dollars." "Why, we might almost buy it," she
cried. "It's lucky you haven't saved more, John. I really believe you
would buy it." "I'd like to sell it to Mr. Baxter," said Novelli, "he
understands it," only to be cut short with a brusque, "No, it's out of
our class, but I wanted Mrs. Baxter to see it, and I wanted you to know
that she appreciates a fine object as much as I do." "Evidently," said
Novelli as they parted. "I hope she will do me the honour of coming in
often; there are few who understand, and whether they buy or not I am
always glad to have them