What she saw reflected dazzled her. Who would have believed jewels could make such a difference in one's appearance? They set off her blonde beauty so that she was suddenly transformed into a princess.
No wonder Stanley Heath had risked his life and his freedom for spoils such as these!
If she could have only one of the jewels she would be satisfied—the string of diamonds, the brooch, a ring—which would she choose?
Of course she never could own anything so gorgeous or so valuable. Notwithstanding the certainty, however, it was fun to imagine she might.
Slowly, and with conscious coquetry, like a preening bird, she turned her head this way and that, delighting in the creaminess of the neck the gems encircled, and in the fairness of her golden curls.
She really ought to have jewels. She was born for them and could carry them off. There were myriad women in the world on whom such adornment would be wasted—good and worthy women, too. Fancy Maria Eldridge or Susan Ann Bearse, for instance, arrayed in pomp like this! But Marcia would be magnificent, with her rich complexion, her finely poised head, her splendid shoulders, her lovely neck. Marcia dressed in all this wealth would be well worth looking at.
Then a voice interrupted her reverie.
It was Stanley Heath calling.
She heard Marcia reply and come hurrying upstairs.