Lesbia rang a silver bell which was on the table and shortly Tim, looking more grotesque and more like a gnome than ever, appeared. He was with the young couple as the majordomo of their small household, and enjoyed himself hugely. "Tim," ordered Lord Charvington, giving him a key, "go to my study and open my dispatch box. Bring me the morocco case you will find in it. A red morocco case."
"Yes, yer lardship," said the majordomo gravely, as he departed.
"Are you sure you want the cross, Lesbia?" asked Mrs. Walker seriously.
"Yes. Whenever I forget to be kind and thoughtful, whenever I am inclined to judge others harshly, the cross will remind me of my own shortcomings."
"You have none, dear," said George fondly.
"George," Mrs. Walker smiled, "you are spoiling her."
"I know someone else who spoils me more," whispered Lesbia roguishly, and Mrs. Walker smoothed the girl's hair.
At this moment Tim returned with the case. Lord Charvington opened it and took out the ornament which glittered in the rosy hues of sunset.
"Presarve us!" whispered Tim crossing himself. "The unlucky crass!"
"Lucky now, Tim," said Charvington, slipping a slender watch-chain he wore from his waistcoat. "It found me my daughter. Here, Lesbia," he threaded the loop at the top of the cross, "you can wear it now."