"Mr. Merton," said the broker, calmly, "I shall have to trouble your patience a little while longer. I will write instantly to Mr. Sandford, late as it is, and bid him bring the money here at once."
After despatching the note, Brandon and his wife returned to the ball room. O, how insipid to the lady's ear seemed now the babble of her guests! The flowers had lost their perfume—the music its divine influence. Yet, with the serpent of remorse and anguish gnawing at her heart, she was forced to smile and seem happy and at ease. A half hour passed in this way seemed an age of torture; and when the messenger despatched by her husband had returned and summoned them again to the library, it gave her inexpressible relief.
"O, Mr. Sandford!" she exclaimed to the jeweller, who was now added to the party, "how happy I am to see you! There is your casket—and here are your diamonds!" and she tore the jewels from her neck, ears, and wrists, and offered them to the jeweller.
"Madam," said the jeweller, gravely, after having examined the gems, "these are not the articles I furnished you. I lent you a set of diamonds—these are paste!"
"What is the meaning of this?" asked the broker sternly.
"I know not. I cannot explain. O, Luke! Luke! I am innocent!" and Mrs. Brandon sunk fainting into a chair.
When she had recovered her senses, Mr. Brandon asked,—
"Did you make this arrangement in person?"
"No," she replied; "it was through the mediation of Mr. Charmant."
"Let's send for him," said Merton.