Mrs. Ricketts’ broad face was one glow of delight. She dropped another courtesy, and tried to articulate some words of thanks, but Mrs. Cameron had already disappeared into the drawing-room, where she now sat, holding the diamond in the palm of her open hand.
She knew enough about precious stones to guess at something of its probable value. The idea of in this way possessing herself of Flower’s diamond never for a moment entered her head, but she was worldly-minded enough to wish that it could be her own, and she could not help owning to a feeling of satisfaction, even to a sense of compensation for the loss of Scorpion, while she held the beautiful glittering thing in her open palm.
Even Flower rose in her estimation when she found that she had possessed a gem so brilliant. A girl who could have such a treasure and so lightly part with it was undoubtedly a simpleton—but she was a simpleton who ought to be guarded and prized—the sort of young innocent who should be surrounded by protecting friends. Mrs. Cameron felt her interest in Flower growing and growing. Suppose she offered to release the Doctor of this wearisome burden. Suppose she undertook the care of Flower and her diamond herself.
No sooner did this thought occur to Mrs. Cameron, than she resolved to act upon it. Of course the Doctor would be delighted to part with Flower. She would see him on the subject at once.
She went slowly upstairs and knocked with a calm, steady hand at the door of the dressing-room which opened into Dr. Maybright’s apartment. No sound or reply of any kind came from within. She listened for a moment, then knocked again, then tried to turn the handle of the door. It resisted her pressure, being locked from within.
Mrs. Cameron raised her voice. She was not a person who liked to be opposed, and that locked door, joined to that most exasperating silence, became more than trying. Surely the Doctor was not deaf as well as blind. Surely he must hear her loud demands, even though a dressing-room stood between his room and the suppliant without.
And surely the Doctor would have heard, for a more polite man never lived, were it not for that all mischievous and irrepressible Polly. But she, being left in charge, had set her sharp brains to work, and had devised a plan to outwit Mrs. Cameron. The dressing-room in question contained a double baize door. This door was seldom or never used, but it came in very conveniently now, for the furtherance of Polly’s plan. When it was shut, and thick curtains also drawn across, and when, in addition, the door leading into Dr. Maybright’s room was securely fastened and curtained off, Polly felt sure that she and her father might pass their morning in delicious quietude. Not hearing Mrs. Cameron, she argued with herself that no one could possibly blame her for not letting her in. Therefore, in high good humor, this young lady sat down to read, work, and chatter gayly. As the Doctor listened, he said to himself that surely there never was in the world a sweeter or more agreeable companion than his Polly.
With all her precautions, however, as the hours flew by, sundry muffled and distant sounds did penetrate to the sick chamber.
“What a peculiar noise!” remarked the Doctor.
“Can it be mice?” queried Polly’s most innocent voice.