Jenny, who was examining herself in a pocket mirror, looked over at him from narrowing eyes. He turned to her, defending himself against the imputation of a lie.
"Castleton helped me to choose it. Look," he said, "it's an old brooch."
He produced from his pocket a worn leather case on the faded mauve velvet of whose lining lay the brooch. It was an opal of some size set unusually in silver filigree with seed pearls and brilliants.
"It's rather pretty," Jenny commented without enthusiasm. In her heart she loved the old-fashioned trinket, and wanted to show her delight to Maurice; but the presence of Castleton was a barrier, and she was strangely afraid of tears that seemed not far away. Maurice, who was by now thoroughly miserable, offered to pin the brooch where it would look most charming; but Jenny said she would put it in her bag, and he sat back in the chair biting his lips and hating Castleton for not immediately getting up and going home. The latter, realizing something was the matter, tried to change the subject.
"What about this Second Empire masquerade at Covent Garden?"
"I don't think we shall be able to bring it off. Ronnie Walker would be ridiculous as Balzac."
"There are others."
"Besides, I don't think I want to be Théophile Gautier."
"Don't be, then," advised Castleton.
"Anyway, it's a rotten idea," declared Maurice.