he pearl--" Here the steps, entering the hall without
ceremony, showed that the new-comers were not the expected northern
guests, since they, of course, would have gone through the form of
raising the knocker upon the open door. It was Dr. Kirby who entered,
followed by the Rev. Mr. Moore.

The Doctor offered his salutations in his usual ceremonious fashion. He
made a compact little bow, and a formal compliment, over the hand of
each of the ladies in turn; he was dressed in black, but still looked
like a canary-bird--a canary-bird in mourning.

After some minutes, again came the sound of the gate-latch. Mrs. Carew,
who was talking, stopped short, even Dr. Kirby's attention flew to the
gravel-path; there was danger of another pause. But bravely Mrs. Thorne
came to the rescue a second time. "The emerald," she observed, to the
unlistening Kirby, "is clear, and even one may say translucent. And how
profound it is!--how deep the mysterious green which--" The new-comers
had crossed the piazza, lifted the knocker, and had then, without
waiting for Pompey's appearance, entered the hall; this showed
acquaintance, though not the familiar intimacy of the first guests; it
proved to be Manuel Ruiz, and with him Adolfo Torres.

But now came the sound of wheels, Mrs. Carew listened eagerly. "A
carriage!" she murmured, turning to the Doctor, as the sound stopped
before her house. He nodded and twirled his thumbs. This time there
could be no doubt, the strangers were coming up the path.

But silence had again attacked the little group, and Mrs. Thorne,
feeling that graceful conversation was now more than ever imperative, if
the strangers were to be impressed with the ease and distinction of
Gracias society, was again about to speak, when Garda, with a merry
gleam in her eyes, exclaimed, with sudden enthusiasm, to Manuel,
"Sapphires, oh, beautiful sapphires, how I wish I had a tiara of them!"
Manuel, though somewhat surprised by the unexpectedness of the topic,
gallantly answered that she was worthy to have her floors paved with
them if she should wish it; nay, that he himself would become a sapphire
for such a purpose. And then by the formal knock and the delay, all felt
that the strangers were at last within their gates. A few minutes later
they entered the drawing-room, Mrs. Rutherford, Margaret Harold, and
Evert Winthrop. Mrs. Thorne's eyes turned towards her daughter with one
quick single beam of triumph: the ladies wore gloves.