"I shall open it," said she, "and you must blame my sex for its inquisitiveness."
"Madame," I replied, "the inquisitiveness implies an interest in the object of it, and so pays me a compliment."
"Tis the sweetest way of condoning a fault that ever I met with," she laughed, and dropped me a sweeping curtsey.
I broke the seal of Elmscott's letter while she untied the parcel.
"Marston's conversation at the theatre," he wrote, "reminded me of these buckles. They belong of right to you, and since it seems your turn has come to need luck's services, I send them gladly in the hope that they may repeat their office on your behalf."
The parcel contained a shagreen case which Ilga unfastened. The diamond buckles from it flashed with a thousand rays, and she tipped them to and fro so that the stones might catch the light.
"Your cousin must have a great liking for you," she said. "For in truth they are very beautiful."
"Elmscott is a gambler," I laughed, "with all a gambler's superstitions," and I handed her the letter.
She read it through. "These buckles were your cousin's last stake, Mr. Marston related," she said. "Do you believe that they will bring you luck?"
"To believe would be presumption. I have no more courage than suffices me to copy Elmscott's example, and hope."