“Too bad!” murmured Barclay, looking regretfully at the jar, and not hearing her last remark. “It’s a shame to lose the pair. Perhaps I can cement the pieces together for you.”
“Oh, could you?” Mrs. Ogden spoke more hopefully. “I had them all collected and placed in this box.”
“Let me see them,” Barclay came over to the table and opening the box, spread the broken china before him; the smallest piece did not escape his scrutiny. “Are these all?” and Mrs. Ogden actually started at the sharpness of his tone.
“I suppose so. Don’t they fit?”
“The big pieces do,” assembling them together as he spoke. “Was there, by chance, anything in the jar?”
“Anything in the jar?” repeated Mrs. Ogden. “No. Nothing was ever kept in either of them. Do stop fingering those pieces, Julian, you may cut your hand on the sharp edges.”
“No danger.” Barclay thoughtfully returned the china to the box. “I shall have to ask the maid if she picked up all the pieces.”
“You can’t do that because she has gone.”
“Gone?” staring blankly at his cousin.
“Certainly,” tartly. “You don’t think I’m going to keep a bull-in-the-china-shop in my employ do you, with all my valuable bric-a-brac? No, indeed; I gave her a week’s wages and sent her packing.”