“Isn’t there anything about them you remember? Didn’t they say something that gave you a clew?”
“Not a word, and yet they seem to know me so well. The queerest thing of all was that, when you were in the dining-room with the man, the woman, in the most confidential tone, began to ask me about some one called Amelia. It was too dreadful! I hadn’t the faintest notion what she meant.”
“What did you say? I’ll lay ten to one you were equal to it.”
“I realized it was desperate, and, after going through the dinner so creditably, I wasn’t going to break down over the coffee. She said: ‘How about poor Amelia?’ I knew by that ‘poor’ and by the expression of her face it was something unusual and queer. I thought a minute, and then looked as solemn as I could, and answered: ‘Really, the subject is a very painful one to me. I’d rather not talk about it.’”
We both roared. It was so like Daisy to be ready that way!
“And then—this is the strangest part of all—she put her hand in the front of her dress and drew out some little thing of chamois leather, and told me to give it to Amelia from her. I tried to stop her, but it was too late. She put it here in the crystal bowl.”
Daisy went to the bowl, and took out a little limp sack of chamois leather.
“It feels like pebbles,” she said, pinching it.
And then she opened it and shook the “pebbles” into her hand. I bent down to look at them, my head close to hers. The palm of her hand was covered with small, sparkling crystals of different sizes and very bright. We looked at them, and then at one another. They were diamonds!
For a moment we didn’t either of us say anything. Daisy had been laughing, and her laugh died away into a sort of scared giggle. Her hand began to shake a little, and it made the diamonds send out gleams in all directions.