Mums put her hand to her head—to the place where she knew she had put in the pin: of course it wasn't there, I wouldn't have made such a mistake.
Mums grew white—really white. I never saw her like that except once when father was thrown from his horse.
'Oh, Jack,' she said, 'are you sure?' and she kept feeling all over her hair among the feathers and hanging lacey things, as if she thought it must be sticking about somewhere.
'Stoop down, mums,' I said, 'and I'll have a good look.'
There weren't many people there just then—several had gone, and several were having tea. So mums sat down on a low chair, and I poked all over her hair. But of course the pin was gone—no, I shouldn't say the pin, for it was there; its top, with the screwy end, was sticking up, but the beautiful diamond thing was gone!
I drew out the pin, and mother gave a little cry of joy as she felt me.
'Oh, it's there,' she said, 'there after all——'
'No, dear,' I said quickly, 'it isn't. Look—it's only the pin.'
Mother seized it, and looked at it with great puzzle as well as trouble in her eyes.
'It's come undone,' she said, 'yet how could it have done? Gran fixed it on himself, and he's so very particular. There's a little catch that fastens it to the pin as well as the screw—see here, Jack,' and she showed me the catch, 'that couldn't have come undone if it was fastened when I put it on. And I know gran clicked it, as well as screwing the head in.'