“Madame tired of them?” he asked. “Wants to sell?”
“Tired of them!” said Goldsturmer. “No. For any one who loves pearls that would be impossible. But desires to sell. Yes.”
“Well,” said Gorman. “That’s her affair and yours. I don’t see that I have anything to do with it.”
“Before I agree to buy,” said Goldsturmer, “I should like to be sure that the American lady, Miss Donovan, still wishes for the pearls. I do not want to lock up my capital. I cannot afford to lock up so large a sum. I must be assured of a purchaser before I buy from Madame Ypsilante. It is not every one who can pay for such pearls. Ah! if you had seen them! They are suited for the wearing of a queen. Only a queen should have them.”
Miss Donovan was, of course, a queen. Gorman wondered whether Goldsturmer knew that. He looked at the little Jew sharply. Goldsturmer’s face wore a far-away dreamy expression. He seemed to be thinking of his pearls draped round the neck of an Empress, a Czarina or some other lady of very high estate who would wear them worthily.
“Only a queen,” he murmured, “should wear those pearls.”
“Madame Ypsilante is the next best thing to a queen,” said Gorman.
A faint smile flickered across Goldsturmer’s mouth.
“I would rather,” he said, “that a real queen, a queen by right of law, wore them. Tell me, Mr. Gorman, is Miss Donovan still willing to buy them?”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” said Gorman. “I haven’t seen her for weeks. She’s yachting in the Mediterranean with her father. If I were you I’d give up Miss Donovan and look out for a queen.”