The softening of his tone roused Prue with a sort of shock. The scorn and repulsion with which she had listened to Aarons' first declaration revived, made sharper by an unfamiliar touch of shame, and she withdrew her hand as though the gift had stung her. Then, swift as thought, a bright glow and sparkle sprang into her face, and she darted from the room, leaving Aarons transfixed with amazement.
He was still in the same position—leaning forward with the open jewel-case in his outstretched hand—when she fluttered back, radiant and breathless, and dropped into her seat behind the table with a laugh of glee.
"Pardon my discourtesy, my good Mr. Aarons," she cried. "You took me somewhat by surprise; I was not prepared for so much forethought. Tell me, was it not two hundred guineas you lent me upon that necklace?"
"——Was it not two hundred guineas?"
"Yes—but—" began the usurer.
"One moment," Prue quickly interposed: "I am hopelessly stupid about such matters, but even I know that there is interest to pay for that loan. Please tell me how much? Another hundred pounds, perhaps, or—"
"I don't know how much," Aarons interrupted bruskly. "This is not a matter of loan and interest."
"Oh! pardon me, I think it is," said Prue, drawing up her slender neck with a vast access of dignity. "I am charmed to have my diamonds once more—God he knows for how long!" and she took the jewel-case from Aarons' unresisting hand. "And here, my good sir, are three hundred pounds; if I am still in your debt, let me know and I will pay you some other day."
She placed three of Robin's bank-notes before him, and lifting the necklace from its velvet bed clasped it about her throat.