“Ha! it’s nice to be you,” he said, dropping the case in his vest.
“Why?” said Clotilde, looking amused.
“Because you gal—ladies dress so well; not like us, always in black. That’s a pretty dress.”
“Think so?” said Clotilde carelessly.
“Very pretty. I like it ever so, but it isn’t half good enough for you.—That’s getting on at last,” he muttered to himself.
“Oh yes, but it is. Aunt Philippa said it was a very expensive dress.”
“Tchh, my dear, rubbish! Why, I would not see anyone I cared for in such a dress as that. I like things rich and good, and the best money can buy.”
“Do you?” said Clotilde innocently; but her cheeks began to burn.
“Do I? Yes; I should just think I do. Look here! What do you think of that?”
He took out and opened the little case, breathed on the diamonds, and then held them in a good light.