In a few moments, Carter came down the steps, rosy and smiling, his heavy watch-chain swinging loosely down from the pocket of his white vest, and the diamonds in his bosom glistening richly.
“Well, what is it?” he inquired, looking into the carriage, and nodding kindly to Eva. “Brought the article down for me to look at, I suppose. It is of no use; if you like it, that’s enough.”
Mrs. Carter took out her reticule-purse, opened the gold clasp, and took a scrap of paper from it.
“Just cut that in two, and give me half. I’ve changed my mind about the bracelet. It isn’t much of an affair, after all, that is, considering the price asked. I’ve made up my mind to invest in real estate. So, just cut down the check, and let me go.”
Carter laughed till the diamonds in his bosom shook off quick flashes of light.
“Well, this is a new idea. Cut down a check half, because one’s wife is going into real estate! Haven’t made so much money on one job in a week. Here, come along, you fellow.”
Beckoning joyously to the footman, Carter went into his office with the check in his hand. Directly the servant came out with the abridged paper neatly folded, which Mrs. Carter put into her purse, and gave another order regarding the route her carriage was to take on its way home. The good woman got out once or twice, leaving Eva alone, and at last came from a lawyer’s office with a folded paper in her hand, which was hurried into her pocket, when she saw Eva looking at it.
Once more Battles drew up his horses at Mrs. Laurence’s gate, and with his heavy face clouded with disgust, waited gloomily for his mistress to go into that shanty, as he was pleased to call it.
Mrs. Carter, oblivious of her servant’s discontent, bustled out of her carriage. She almost lifted Eva to the ground, and opened the gate for herself, absolutely pushing the footman on one side, and bursting her delicate mauve glove in the operation.
“Now, my dears, you can call that mother of yours! Don’t stop to take off your bonnet, Eva, but bring her in. That’s right. Here she comes, looking as if she expected a policeman. Mrs. Laurence, my dear neighbor, my darling good woman! here is something for you; just a trifle—a little mite of a present. Take it, and chuck it, neck and heels, into the hottest corner of your cooking-stove.”