“I should ask Maudie herself.”
“No, your father wants it to be a surprise, quite a surprise. I thought if you knew, or could find out something she really wants, I could go to town and meet your father and get it settled.”
“What is daddy’s idea?”
“Your father’s idea is a grand piano, but Mr. Marksby’s aunt is giving them that.”
“Well, they don’t want two,” said Julia, sensibly. “The employees are giving them table silver, and the directors are giving them three silver bowls. If I were you I should give Maudie diamond earrings.”
“You think she would like them?”
“Yes, dear mother; every woman who has had her ears pierced likes diamond earrings.”
“What sort of diamond earrings?”
“Oh,” said Julia, “there can be no doubt the sort. Have the biggest single stones that you can squeeze out of the money.”
So the great question was settled, and a day or two later Mrs. Whittaker and Julia went up to town and lunched with the noble Alfred. They lunched at a very cosy little restaurant not a thousand yards from Charing Cross. A spoonful of white soup, a scrap of salmon, a serve of chicken stewed in the French fashion in the pot, and some asparagus, washed down by some excellent white wine, and followed by a black coffee and a liqueur, made the trio very much inclined to look on the rosy side of life. Then they got into a hansom, Julia sitting bodkin-wise, and drove off to the jeweler’s at which Mrs. Whittaker had decided that they would buy Maudie’s earrings. Their choice fell upon a pair which the shopman described as “fit for an empress.” They were not vulgarly large, but they were of the purest water, and of the most dazzling brilliance.