'There are; but these are sapphires.'
'And the little stones round?'
'Yes, they're diamonds.'
'The hanging-down thing is such a pretty shape!'
'Yes, the fleur-de-lys is a pretty shape. It's the flower of France, you know—just as the thistle is the——'
'There, now!' A penetrating whisper came from the other bed. 'She's gone.'
'It's you who've been keeping her here, you know.' Miss Levering bent her neat, dark head over the little girl, and the gleaming jewels swung forward.
'Yes,' said Cecil, in a tone of grandfatherly disgust; 'yelling like a wild Indian.'
'Well, you cried,' said his sister—'just because a feather pillow hit you.' Her eye never once left the glittering gaud.