Lady Hayes shook her head, but her hand fell on Darsie’s head with a tender touch, and a light shone in the tired eyes. The lonely heart was grateful for those words of encouragement.
Darsie’s surmise that still more presents might arrive was justified by the delivery of three more packets—a dainty little pearl necklace from Mrs Percival, a turquoise and diamond ring (oh, the rapture of owning a real ring of one’s very own!) and a combination present of a jewelled bangle from three other ladies who had benefited by the lucky find. Thus in one short week had Darsie’s jewellery risen from a total which she herself described as consisting of “a few glass beads and a gold safety-pin” to five separate articles of real beauty and value.
She was fond of spreading her treasures in a row on the table and gazing at them en bulk, moving her head from side to side to enjoy the flashing colours of the stones, and as she did so Lady Hayes was more than surprised by a mercenary element which seemed out of keeping with the girl’s natural character.
“Rubies are the most valuable stones, aren’t they, Aunt Maria—more valuable than diamonds?”
“If they are of the right colour and depth, and of sufficient size.”
“You said this was a good stone. It’s a ripping colour. I should think this must be a valuable stone, wouldn’t you?”
“I prefer not to speculate on the subject, child.”
Or again—
“I should think this watch was worth lots of money. I have just counted, and there are forty diamonds, teenies, of course, but still— And the enamel is so fine. My bracelet has five big diamonds, and a whole heap of pearls; and there’s the necklace, too. Should you think, Aunt Maria, that they were worth a hundred pounds put together?”
Lady Hayes laid down her knitting, and stared with stony eyes into the girl’s face.