“Bless your heart, child!” he said, “I am in that trade myself; I have made a pretty snug fortune in it. Yes, I can glance at your little bargain and tell you, if you like, whether it is a bargain or not.”
“And you remember your promise; you will never tell any one?”
“Honour bright,” was his answer.
She then put the box into his hand. He opened it, and took out the old necklace with its pearls of various sizes and different shapes, and its very quaint, old-world setting. Annie glanced at him and saw a subtle change creep over his face. He had hitherto regarded the whole thing as a joke. Annie Brooke, child as she was, could not possibly know a bargain when she saw it, and those Swiss fellows were as sharp as knives and never let anything good escape them. And yet, and yet—here was something of real merit. Those centre pearls were distinguished—round and smooth and of the most exquisite colour.
He dangled the thing lightly in his hand.
All the tricks of the trade, all that which had made him the rich old man what he was, rushed quickly through his brain, and yet he looked again at Annie Brooke. For the life of her, Annie could not keep the eagerness out of her eyes.
“Is it a bargain, or is it not?” she said. “Have I been fooled about it?”
“Will you tell me in strict confidence what you gave for it?” he asked.
Annie had hoped he would not put this question to her.
“I was a little mad, I think,” she said. “I gave my all for it.”