“If I might presume to advise, I would take little Tommy.”
“What! all that road? Do you want me to lose my child, as well as my man?”
“O Mrs. Falcon!”
“Don't speak to her, doctor, to get your nose snapped off. Give her time. She'll come to her senses before she dies.”
Next day Mrs. Falcon and Staines started for Cape Town. Staines paid her every attention, when opportunity offered. But she was sullen and gloomy, and held no converse with him.
He landed her at an inn, and then told her he would go at once to the jeweller's. He asked her piteously would she lend him a pound or two to prosecute his researches. She took out her purse, without a word, and lent him two pounds.
He began to scour the town: the jewellers he visited could tell him nothing. At last he came to a shop, and there he found Mrs. Falcon making her inquiries independently. She said coldly, “You had better come with me, and get your money and things.”
She took him to the bank—it happened to be the one she did business with—and said, “This is Dr. Christie, come for his money and jewels.”
There was some demur at this; but the cashier recognized him, and Phoebe making herself responsible, the money and jewels were handed over.
Staines whispered Phoebe, “Are you sure the jewels are mine?”