“Yes, often; so often,” cried Claire. “Oh, tell me what this means. Of whom did you buy them?”
“Well, that I can’t say, my dear; but I’m going to show you that you are wrong,” said Mrs Barclay, laughing and showing her white teeth. “Now look here,” she continued, as she took up the necklet, and then, crossing to the safe, she picked out an old morocco case, which she laid upon the table. “Open that, my dear,” she continued, turning to Cora. “There’s a necklet in there very much like this.”
Cora pressed the snap spring, and, in obedience to a nod from Mrs Barclay, took out a brilliant necklet and laid it upon the table.
“There, my dears,” cried the plump little woman; “those are diamonds! Look at them. Those are brilliants. Look at the fire in them; and now lay these beside them. Where’s the fire and bright colours? They’d light up and look shiny by candle-light; but, though they’d deceive some folks, they wouldn’t cheat me. My Jo-si-ah has shown me the difference too often. There, then, take my word for it, and let’s put them away.”
“No, no,” cried Claire wildly. “I feel as if I have found out something that might clear up a mystery. I dread to inquire further, but I feel as if I must. Mrs Barclay—dear Mrs Barclay—it seems shocking to contradict you so flatly; but you are wrong—I am sure you are wrong. Those are indeed Lady Teigne’s diamonds.”
“Now, bless us and save us, my dear, dear child, look here,” cried Mrs Barclay, taking up the two necklets, one in each hand, and breathing upon them. “I know these things by heart, my dear. My Jo-si-ah has taught me; and a fine lot of trouble he had, for I’m a stupid old woman. Now look there.”
She breathed on a couple of the largest stones again, and held them out in the light.
“Now see how the breath goes off them, my dears. See the difference? Those are brilliants. These that you say are Lady Teigne’s diamonds are only paste—paste or glass, as the Italians call it. They make lots of ’em very cleverly, and they’re shiny and bright, but they are not precious stones. Now then, are you satisfied? Shall I put ’em all away, and ring for tea?”
“No,” said Claire, trembling; “I am not satisfied; and though I feel as if I were going to find out something horrible, I must—I must go on.”
“Well—well—well, then, my dear, so you shall go on. I’ll do anything to humour you, and try and make you a bit happier. Now, then, what’s to be done? Let me warn you, though, that I’m right, and those are not diamonds at all, only bits of glass, with some tinfoil behind to make ’em shine.”