“Oh, Uncle Luke is hopeless,” Aubrey returned, shrugging his shoulders. “The League of Nations means nothing to him. He is one of the regular fire-eating, jingo-shouting Britons that plunged us all into that horrible carnage of 1914. But his type is becoming scarcer every day as the world grows nearer the Christian ideal, thank Heaven!”
“Sometimes it seems to me to be growing farther from the Christian ideal instead of nearer.” The clergyman sighed. “I am going through a terrible experience now, Aubrey. I must confess it is a great trial to my faith.”
Instantly Todmarsh's face assumed its most sympathetic expression.
“I am so sorry to hear it, Uncle James. Do tell me about it, if it would be any relief to you. Sit down”—as they entered the refectory—“what is it? Tony?”
But the rector put aside the proffered chair.
“No, no. I must see all I can of the Settlement. No, it has nothing to do with Tony, I am thankful to say. He is to the full as much bewildered as I am myself. It is the emeralds—the cross!”
“The Collyer cross?” Aubrey exclaimed. “What of that?”
“Well—er, circumstances arose that made it—er—desirable that I should ascertain its value. I took it to your Uncle Luke, thinking that he might be able to help me, and he discovered that the stones were paste.”
“Impossible!” Aubrey stared at his uncle. “I cannot believe it. But, pardon me, Uncle James, I don't think that either you or Uncle Luke are very learned with regard to precious stones. I expect it is all a mistake. The Collyer emeralds are genuine enough!”
“Oh, there is no mistake,” Mr. Collyer said positively. “I had them examined by a well-known expert this morning. They are paste—not particularly good paste, either. If I had known rather more about such things, I might have discovered the substitution sooner. Not that it would have made much difference! You are wrong about your Uncle Luke, though, Aubrey. He has an immense fund of information about precious stones. He told me that he was about to dispose of——”