‘Very well, Miss Gordon, when your father was young. In those days Sir Philip was a customer of mine. I sold him his first pearl studs while he was at Oxford, and at least four scarf pins—a bit of a dandy Sir Philip was up at Oxford. But what may interest you is the fact that I made your mother’s engagement ring for him; a large half-hoop of very fine diamonds—’
‘Did you make that ring?’
‘I did, Miss Gordon. I remember quite well his showing me a miniature of Lady Anna—I remember his words. He said: “She’s so pure that only the purest stones are fit to touch her finger.” You see, he’d known me ever since he was at Eton, that’s why he spoke of your mother to me—I felt deeply honoured. Ah, yes—dear, dear—your father was young then and very much in love. . . .’
She said suddenly: ‘Is this pearl as pure as those diamonds?’
And he answered: ‘It’s without a blemish.’
Then she found her cheque book and he gave her his pen with which to write out the very large cheque.
‘Wouldn’t you like some reference?’ she inquired, as she glanced at the sum for which he must trust her.
But at this he laughed: ‘Your face is your reference, if I may be allowed to say so, Miss Gordon.’
They shook hands because he had known her father, and she left the shop with the ring in her pocket. As she walked down the street she was lost in thought, so that if people stared she no longer noticed. In her ears kept sounding those words from the past, those words of her father’s when long, long ago he too had been a young lover: ‘She’s so pure that only the purest stones are fit to touch her finger.’