"You can let me have the necklet, I suppose? Old gold filigree, set in emeralds. I left it here to be valued."
The young man went to a book, and ran his finger down the last page—"'Mr. Stephens—necklet, set with emeralds.'—Yes; here it is."
"That is not right," said Salome. "That can't be yours."
"Be quiet," said Raymond, in an angry whisper.—"Yes; that is it. I will take it, if you please."
There was still a little hesitation in the man's manner. "Mr. Stephens—is that right?" There was a scarcely perceptible glance at Salome as he spoke.
He produced the case, and opening it, said, "They are very fine emeralds. The value would be from sixty to eighty pounds."
Raymond took the case up, closed the spring, and, saying "Good morning," was leaving the shop; but the shopman followed him.
"I think it would be more satisfactory, sir, if you signed your name in this book, and address."
Raymond was perplexed for a moment, but only for a moment.
"The necklet is this young lady's property," he said.—"Sign your name, Salome."