“And you are interested in that kind of thing?” he queried, with a touch of disdain. “A stolen gem, and therefore an unlucky one—‘looted’ by a French officer from the forehead of a mutilated statue somewhere in the East. It’s not a thing I should care to have.”
“Nor I,” agreed Diana, amicably. “But it’s worth seeing.”
“The Professor is a great authority on precious stones,” said Madame Dimitrius. “You know, Féodor, you have always credited him with very exceptional knowledge on the subject.”
“Of course!” he replied. “But I was not aware that Miss May had any hankerings after jewels.”
Diana laughed. She was amused to see him more or less in a kind of suppressed temper.
“I haven’t!” she declared, gaily. “It would be no use if I had! Jewels are, and always have been, beyond my reach. But I like to know positively from the Professor that they are living things, feeling heat and cold just as we do, and that some of them shrink from diseased persons and lose their lustre, and are brilliant and happy with healthy ones. It is very fascinating!”
“The Professor is not!” remarked Dimitrius, ironically.
She raised her eyes, smilingly.
“No?”
“He’s a very worthy man,” put in Madame Dimitrius, gently. “And very distinguished in his way. He’s certainly not handsome.”