the flush on her cheeks and the smouldering look in her
eyes, as though a fire were alight within her, turned in his tracks and
bitterly regretted that he knew not who she was, or whither going. The
jeweller took the jewels from the green box, weighed them one by one,
and slowly examined each through his lens. He was a little man with a
yellow wrinkled face and a weak little beard, and having fixed in his
mind the sum that he would give, he looked at his client prepared to
mention less. She was sitting with her elbows on the counter, her chin
resting in her hands, and her eyes were fixed on him. He decided somehow
to mention the exact sum.

"Is that all?"

"Yes, madam; that is the utmost."

"Very well, but I must have it now in cash!"

The jeweller's eyes flickered.

"It's a large sum," he said--"most unusual. I haven't got such a sum in
the place."

"Then please send out and get it, or I must go elsewhere."

The jeweller brought his hands together, and washed them nervously.

"Excuse me a moment; I'll consult my partner."

He went away, and from afar he and his partner spied her nervously. He
came back with a forced smile. Mrs. Bellew was sitting as he had left
her.

"It's a fortunate chance; I think we can just do it, madam."

"Give me notes, please, and a sheet of paper." The jeweller brought
them.

Mrs. Bellew wrote a letter, enclosed it with the bank notes in the bulky
envelope she had brought, addressed it, and sealed the whole.

"Call a cab, please!"

The jeweller called a cab.

"Chelsea Embankment!"

The cab bore her away.

Again in the crowded streets so full of traffic, people turned to look
after her. The cabman, who put her down at the Albert Bridge, gazed
alternately at the coins in his hands and the figure of his fare, and
wheeling his cab towards the stand, jerked his thumb in her direction.

Mrs. Bellew walked fast down a street till, turning a corner, she came
suddenly on a small garden with three poplar-trees in a row. She opened
its green gate without pausing, went down a path, and stopped at the
first of three green doors. A young man with a beard, resembling an
artist, who was standing behind the last of the three doors, watched her
with a knowing smile on his face. She took out a latch-key, put it in
the lock, opened the door, and passed in.

The sight of her face seemed to have given the artist an idea. Propping
his door open, he brought an easel and canvas, and setting th