And then, suddenly, it seemed to John Bruce as though his blood whipping through his veins was afire. A face in profile, bending forward to examine the diamonds and the setting of the fob-pendant, came under the light. He gazed at it fascinated. It was the most beautiful face he had ever seen. His eyes drank in the rich masses of brown, silken hair, the perfect throat, the chin and lips that, while modelled in sweet womanliness, were still eloquent of self-reliance and strength. He had thought to see a pretty face, a little brazen perhaps, and artfully powdered and rouged; what he saw was a vision of loveliness that seemed to personify the unsullied, God-given freshness and purity of youth.
He spoke involuntarily; no power of his could have kept back the words.
“My God, you are wonderful!” he exclaimed in a low voice.
He saw the color swiftly tinge the throat a coral pink, and mount upwards; but she did not look at him. Her eyes! He wanted to see her eyes—to look into them! But she did not turn her head.
“You probably paid two thousand dollars for this,” she said quietly, “and——”
“Nineteen hundred,” corrected John Bruce mechanically.
“I will allow you seventeen hundred on it, then,” she said, still quietly. “The interest will be at seven per cent. Do you wish to accept the offer?”
Seventeen hundred! Seven per cent! It was in consonance with the vision! His mind was topsy-turvy.
He did not understand.
“It is very liberal,” said John Bruce, trying to control his voice. “Of course, I accept.”