She had taken the stones from the case and was holding them against her breast. The millionaire watched her. He was thinking of the series of women who had worn the jewels. The heartaches, the despairs, the jealousies. "Heart of Fire," like all famous stones, had left behind it a trail of tragedy and violence. Held in Ruth Kettering's assured hand, it seemed to lose its potency of evil. With her cool, equable poise, this woman of the western world seemed a negation to tragedy or heart-burnings. Ruth returned the stones to their case; then, jumping up, she flung her arms round her father's neck.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you, Dad! They are wonderful! You do give me the most marvellous presents always."
"That's all right," said Van Aldin, patting her shoulder. "You are all I have, you know, Ruthie."
"You will stay to dinner, won't you, father?"
"I don't think so. You were going out, weren't you?"
"Yes, but I can easily put that off. Nothing very exciting."
"No," said Van Aldin. "Keep your engagement. I have got a good deal to attend to. See you to-morrow, my dear. Perhaps if I 'phone you, we can meet at Galbraiths'?"
Messrs. Galbraith, Galbraith, Cuthbertson, & Galbraith were Van Aldin's London solicitors.
"Very well, Dad." She hesitated. "I suppose it—this—won't keep me from going to the Riviera?"
"When are you off?"