Mrs Moffatt stood before her, trembling and abject; overcome with a pitiful emotion.
“I’m going! Could you, could you kiss me, Cornelia, before I go?”
Cornelia drew herself up proudly.
“No, I guess not! We’ll leave that over for another time. Some day, perhaps, when you’re straight. ... You’d best not waste any more time...”
“I’m going. I can’t thank you. I swear to you—”
“No, don’t swear! I don’t want any promises. Promise yourself; that’s the best thing. ... Good-bye.”
“Good-bye, Cornelia Briskett!”
The door opened, and shut. Cornelia listened with bated breath, but all was silent from the corridor without. She leant her head on the dressing-table, and burst into a passion of tears.
Captain Guest paced up and down the sitting-room for a quarter of an hour, casting impatient glances at the clock, and pausing now and then to lift the emerald necklace from the table and examine it with wondering curiosity. It was a pretty enough plaything, but from his point of view it seemed a preposterous waste of money to sink a cool thousand pounds on its purchase. He mentally ran over the various necessary repairs on his own property, which could be completed for the sum, and shrugged his shoulders expressively. Still, women liked such playthings, and if one were specially interested in a woman (a woman, say, to whom emeralds were specially becoming!), there would be a certain satisfaction in seeing her wearing the pretty things. It was conceivable that the pleasure so given might even be as keen as that derived from a new chimney-stack or a barn!