“Yes, madame. We advance money on jewellery and valuables of all kinds.” With an eloquent hand he indicated a door marked “Private” in the shadow at the back of the shop. “Transactions are conducted with privacy and dispatch.”
Loree was horrified, pawnshops being vaguely connected in her mind with crime and police-court notices in the Sunday papers. She had sat down before the counter, but she now rose hurriedly.
“I don’t think I will bother about the box to-day.”
As she gathered up her gloves and sunshade, the door marked “Private” opened, and Valeria Cork emerged. She was so busily occupied stuffing a bundle of banknotes into her bag that she walked past and left the shop without observing Loree. The latter, flushed and embarrassed by what seemed to her a dreadful contretemps, lingered in the shop, buying the snuff box as a means of delaying herself from catching up with Mrs Cork in the street.
Of course it was no affair of hers, but she could not help wondering what business had been transacted behind the “Private” door that had resulted in Valeria Cork’s acquiring a bundle of banknotes. Was she dreadfully in need of money and obliged to pawn something? Perhaps she could not even pay her hotel-bill! These were awful ideas to Loree, who had never known need of money in her life. She felt sorry as well as curious, for she liked Valeria Cork in spite of her dry tongue and uncertain temper. Besides, Loree Temple, when uncorrupted by diamonds, was of an exceedingly kind and generous disposition, with an instinct always to help people in trouble. For a time now she even forgot the diamonds, so absorbed was she by the thought of Mrs Cork’s embarrassments. But only for a time. The ball was to take place that night, and planning her toilette required undivided attention. Early in the day she had put everything ready. The gown she was to wear lay like a drift of primroses over a chair, the electric fan fluttering it softly, and driving away every tiny crease acquired in travel. Long yellow silk stockings and little yellow satin slippers with sparkling buckles lay on another chair, and on the bed all sorts of soft and slight and slinky garments to go on underneath. She sat down and commenced to do her hair. That took an hour or so, for like all hair it was obstinate and behaved badly when it was wanted to look its best. She almost wished she had gone to a hairdresser. After pulling it down at least forty times and at last getting very nervous, she vowed that the forty-first time would have to do. It was the kind of hair that did not really need doing at all, being perfectly charming when just pushed up carelessly into little clusters of spraying waves and curls. She stuck her usual red rose into it from a great bunch that had been delivered that afternoon with the compliments of Heseltine Quelch. It was dinner-time long before she had finished so she rang for something on a tray and ate it sitting at her dressing-table studying herself in the mirror. In her vain little heart she decided that it was the better plan not to go downstairs where numbers of people were giving smart dinner parties. She did not want to be examined by scores of eyes before the hour when they would all file past Royalty. She wanted to dawn in all her glory upon the ball. To step like a fairy princess into the centre of the stage. Secretly she had an idea of outrivalling the renowned beauty of Princess Evelyn. However she was not very sure of herself in this ambition, being aware that Royalty has an air of its own, and that when said air is allied to beauty it becomes almost irresistible. Also, the Princess was older than she, had acquired the sophistication of Courts, and travelled in many lands. These things count, and Loree knew it. Still, she was not too discontented with the results of her subtle toiling and weaving when she stood at last ready to go downstairs. The only fault she could find was that she looked too innocent. That, she felt sure was a grave defect in a woman of the world. Be innocent, yes, thought Loraine Loree, but don’t look it, or people will think you are just out of the schoolroom. An abominable thing for a married woman of one year to have thought about her.
She wondered what on earth she could do to give herself the right note of sophistication and awareness that there was wickedness in the world? She was wearing Pat’s pearls; on her fingers, in her ears, round her throat: and they made her look more innocent than ever. For once she had locked the diamond necklace, precious and adored, up in her jewel box, for worn with a gown like this it could not possibly have been concealed. But suddenly a mad and daring idea darted into her mind. Suppose she should wear it? Would anything in the world give such a note? In the twinkling of an eye the pearls were off and replaced by the chain of glimmering gems. Just to see!
Yes. They gave the note. She looked like an angel who had been down to hell on an errand, and got back safely. For it was on an errand only, be it understood. She had not lingered to talk to the Devil. Only given a glance beyond the bars to see what was going on there among the bright flames. Then fled. But the adventure had left its mark. Or so the diamonds seemed to relate in their brilliant language and the haunting echoes they gave to the eyes.
But dared she do this thing? Dared she go down into the crowd wearing the marvellous chain of stones that had come so mysteriously into her possession? She dallied long with the temptation, turning over the pros and cons in her mind. And after all what were the cons? Whoever it was that had been so kind and delightful as to present her with this jewel had surely meant her to wear it? Not keep it forever hidden? She did not linger too long over that phase of the story, however, because she did not wish to think too intently of the giver. Certainly she had no idea who it was, but she liked to think vaguely that the gods had something to do with it. Not any mere human being. The rose-pink idol rustling in its silken nest was a different thing altogether. Unfortunately she knew that belonged to De Beers, and she dared not openly wear it. But surely this chain...
Well! if you dally with temptation long enough, temptation always wins, especially when aided and abetted by a thousand little lovely, glittering, dancing, scintillating spirits of light and colour.
Needless to say Loree went downstairs with the chain round her neck: and though her heart was trembling with its own audacity she walked like a queen.