"The bridegroom's gift to the bride," he said,—"if the bridegroom gets to the church."
Hemming gazed at it in silence.
"Cut and polished, what would it be worth?" asked its owner. His voice was low and eager. He placed a trembling hand on his friend's knee.
"I have seen diamonds in the rough before," replied Hemming, "but never one as large as this. Brazilian stones vary a good deal in quality. It may stand for a fortune, or perhaps for nothing more than a respectable cottage, with stables, a paddock, and an orchard, and maybe a shooting in Scotland."
"That would do for us," said Hicks, grinning like a schoolboy. "Old Tetson could manage the orchard, and Mrs. Tetson could see that he didn't get his feet wet." For a few moments he seemed to be following this dream of bucolic bliss.
Then he continued: "I bought it in Pernambuco last December from a drunken sailor, a cook or something like that, who had run away from a wind-jammer. He didn't think much of it. It had been given him by an old woman,—at least, so he said, but more likely he stole it. I paid fifteen milreis for it,—fifteen milreis, with the exchange at ninepence."
"Put it away," said Hemming, "and keep that belt next your hide, no matter how much it galls."
Hicks replaced the stone in the empty shell, and the shell in his belt.
"And she thinks I haven't a cent," he whispered. "Isn't she a brick?"
The Englishman leaned back, out of range of the open window, and relit his cigar. Suddenly Hicks bent forward, listening.