“I? Oh, no! I shouldn’t care for diamonds for myself; I should look absurd in them. Diamonds are for great ladies, not for governesses.”
“Governesses become great ladies sometimes, don’t they?” said he, returning to his usual light tone.
“I think most of them don’t,” said I, in the same manner.
“Well, without being a great lady, a governess may wear an ornament she has fairly earned, may she not?”
“Yes, if it has been fairly earned,” said I, trying to keep up a light tone of talk, though my heart was beating fast.
“And so you can accept this pretty little thing as the reward of your services to a grateful painter and a souvenir of our pleasant morning all together in the studio.”
“Oh, no—oh, no—I can’t indeed!” said I earnestly, pushing from me gently the case he was trying to put into my hand. “Don’t be offended—don’t be angry with me, Mr. Rayner; but the very thought of possessing anything so valuable would be a burden to me night and day.”
Mr. Rayner burst into a long laugh.
“Oh, you simple little creature! I did not think a London lady would be so unsophisticated as to mistake very ordinary paste for diamonds,” said he, with much enjoyment. “This pendant, the enormous value of which frightens you so much, is worth about fifteen shillings. It wasn’t even worth having a case made for it; see, I have had to put it into an old case which once contained a brooch. No, no, my dear child, you need not be alarmed at the mere money-value of the thing, which is very little. It has a value in my eyes, but for a different reason. Look here.”
He turned it over, and I saw on the back a monogram, and the date 1792.