ached the subject delicately. It was a fad of Lady Vandrift's,
I said. She had set her heart upon those useless trinkets. And she
wouldn't go without them. She must and would have them. But the
curate was obdurate. He threw Uncle Aubrey still in my teeth. Three
hundred?--no, never! A mother's present; impossible, dear Jessie!
Jessie begged and prayed; she had grown really attached to Lady
Vandrift, she said; but the curate wouldn't hear of it. I went up
tentatively to four hundred. He shook his head gloomily. It wasn't
a question of money, he said. It was a question of affection. I saw
it was no use trying that tack any longer. I struck out a new line.
"These stones," I said, "I think I ought to inform you, are really
diamonds. Sir Charles is certain of it. Now, is it right for a man
of your profession and position to be wearing a pair of big gems
like those, worth several hundred pounds, as ordinary sleeve-links?
A woman?--yes, I grant you. But for a man, is it manly? And you a
cricketer!"

He looked at me and laughed. "Will nothing convince you?" he cried.
"They have been examined and tested by half a dozen jewellers, and
we know them to be paste. It wouldn't be right of me to sell them
to you under false pretences, however unwilling on my side. I
_couldn't_ do it."

"Well, then," I said, going up a bit in my bids to meet him,
"I'll put it like this. These gems are paste. But Lady Vandrift
has an unconquerable and unaccountable desire to possess them.
Money doesn't matter to her. She is a friend of your wife's. As a
personal favour, won't you sell them to her for a thousand?"

He shook his head. "It would be wrong," he said,--"I might even add,
criminal."

"But we take all risk," I cried.

He was absolute adamant. "As a clergyman," he answered, "I feel
I cannot do it."

"Will _you_ try, Mrs. Brabazon?" I asked.

The pretty little Scotchwoman leant over and whispered. She coaxed
and cajoled him. Her ways were winsome. I couldn't hear what she
said, but he seemed to give way at last. "I should love Lady
Vandrift to have them," she murmured, turning to me. "She _is_ such
a dear!" And she took out the links from her husband's cuffs and
handed them across to me.

"How much?" I asked.

"Two thousand?" she answered, interrogatively. It was a big rise,
all at once; but such are the ways of women.

"Done!" I replied. "Do you consent?"

The curate looked up as if ashamed of himself.

"I consent," he said slowl