A Ring of Rubies. Meade L. T.

jubilant with smiles, joined me.

      “Oh, Miss Rosamund, how kind of you! How very kind – I am delighted!”

      “Susan, I particularly want to ask your advice. Would it be possible for you to come out with me for a little?”

      “Oh, miss, I’d like to, awfully, but I’m afraid it’s against the rules. Still, it would be a treat to take a walk with you, miss, and Madame Leroy is very good-natured. I have a good mind to try if she’d spare me for an hour; we are not particularly full of orders just now.”

      “All right, Susan, do your best, for I really want your help,” I answered.

      Susan nodded and disappeared. In an incredibly short space of time she returned, wearing a very smart jacket and stylish hat. Oh, how dowdy I looked by her side!

      “I’m just given an hour, Miss Rosamund,” she said.

      The moment we got into the street I told her what I wanted.

      “I have got a curious old ring with me,” I said, “very old-fashioned; I want to find out what it really is worth. Do you know an honest jeweller who will tell me the truth, Susan?”

      Susan’s eyes sparkled.

      “There’s lots of jewellers in Oxford Street, miss,” she said.

      “I don’t wish to go to one of them. They will fancy I want to sell, and will run my ring down.”

      “Then,” proceeded Susan, “there are men, Jews, most of them, who lend ornaments to my missis, which she hires out to her ladies.”

      Susan’s eyes shone very brightly when she revealed this little secret to her country friend.

      “Another time you shall tell me more about these jewellers,” I replied. “But they surely would be the least honest of all, and could not help us to-day. Susan, you must think again.”

      “I know an apprentice,” said Susan. “And he’s very clever, and – and – wonderful on stones, Miss Rosamund.”

      “Ah, I thought you were the girl for me to come to, Susan. This apprentice is just the person whom we want. Where does he live?”

      “Well, miss, if you’ll come with me now we’ll catch him just before he goes to his dinner. Sam is honest, if you like, miss, blunt I call him.”

      “Take me to Sam without a moment’s delay,” I said.

      We walked quickly, and presently found ourselves in Hanway Street. We turned into a small shop. A lad of about twenty was selling a china cup and saucer to an old lady.

      The shop was full of all kinds of dirty, quaint, curious things. It reminded me a little bit of Cousin Geoffrey’s house. The lad had red hair; he winked at Susan, and I saw at once that I was in the presence of Sam.

      Presently the lady customer left the shop in a considerable huff, and without the cup and saucer.

      “She’ll come back fast enough, I’ve hooked her,” said Sam. “The old ’un’ll be pleased. I most times hook a couple of customers in the morning, and the old ’un is always delighted. Your pleasure, ladies? How do, Susan?”

      All the favourable opinion I had formed of Susan Ford was abundantly verified by her conduct during this interview. Sam examined the ruby ring from every possible point of view, he squinted frightfully over it. He turned on the gas, and caused its rays to pierce through the heart of the gems. They leaped up as if with living fire.

      Presently he said that it was his bounden duty to consult the old ’un. Before I could expostulate he had vanished with the ring into an inner sanctum. He came back in the course of ten minutes.

      “How will you take it, miss?” he said. “In notes or gold?”

      For a moment I felt too petrified to speak.

      “What do you mean?” I presently gasped. “I don’t want to sell the ring.”

      “Oh, come now, miss, that’s a good ’un! You know better than that. Don’t she, Miss Ford?”

      Susan bridled and got very red when she was addressed as Miss Ford. But, being my staunch friend, she came quickly to the rescue.

      “Miss Lindley knows her own mind, Sam,” she said severely. “She don’t want to sell the ring, only to value it.”

      Sam, looking intensely mysterious and amused, darted once more into the back room.

      “I wish he would give me back my ring,” I said to Susan.

      “Oh, it’s all right, you let Sam manage it his own way,” retorted Susan.

      After what seemed an interminable five minutes, Sam returned. His face was now quite pale, and his voice had an awe-struck sound about it.

      “I never knew anything like it,” he said, “never in all my life, but it’s true for all that. The old ’un’ll give you one hundred and fifty pounds for the ring, miss.”

      I was nineteen years old, and I had never in the whole course of my life possessed ten pounds at a time. The idea, therefore, of walking out of that shop with one hundred and fifty pounds in notes and gold, all my own, my very own, was something of a temptation. Nevertheless I stood firm.

      “I don’t mean to sell the ring,” I said, “whatever it is valued at. I know now that it is worth not only one hundred and fifty pounds, but a considerable sum more. I cannot, however, get the exact value out of your master, as he wants to become the purchaser. I will, therefore, say good-morning. Come, Susan.” Susan, casting a somewhat withering glance at Sam, followed me into Hanway Street, and we presently found ourselves back again at the large house in Great Portland Street.

      “Good-bye, miss,” said Susan. “I wish with all my heart I could ask you in, but I can’t, and there’s an end. I’d be delighted to help you in any other way, miss, about the ring, and if ever you do want to sell, I have no doubt Sam and his master will still hold to their offer.”

      “Yes, but I shall never want to sell my ring,” I replied somewhat proudly. Then I bade Susan a hearty good-bye and returned to Oxford Street.

      I had some idea of calling on Mr Gray, of taking him into my confidence, of asking him to advise me as to the best means of becoming a pupil at the Slade School. But I abandoned this idea for the present, and decided to take the next train home to my mother. Before doing this I went into Peter Robinson’s, and purchased two yards of delicate pearl-grey ribbon to put in her best cap.

      “Sweet, pretty mother!” I said to myself. “How I should like to buy real Honiton lace to trim that cap, and a pearl-grey silk dress to match this ribbon; and how I should love to give her the daintiest food and the most beautiful luxurious home, and to take away that coarse darning, and that rough horrid mending, and that grinding poverty for ever.”

      I could do a great deal if I sold Cousin Geoffrey’s ring. A great deal, but not all, and I must not part in a hurry with a legacy which was not only beautiful, but had such a substantial money-value.

      I popped my bit of ribbon, therefore, into my pocket, looked sadly at the few remaining shillings in my purse, and took the next train back to Thorpdale.

      I arrived at Ivy Lodge in time for an afternoon cup of tea with my mother. I was very hungry, for I had not ventured on the extravagance of lunch in town, and while I ate, I regaled her with the account of my morning’s adventures. She was by no means astonished when she heard that the old Jew dealer had offered me one hundred and fifty pounds for the ring.

      “It is worth a good deal more than that,” she said. “I know the centre ruby has been priced at a very high figure by more than one connoisseur. Nevertheless, you are not going to sell the ring, are you, Rosamund?”

      “It would pay my expenses at the Slade,” I said somewhat mischievously.

      My mother was about to reply when we were both startled by hearing the sound of a latch-key in the hall-door lock. I opened the door of the little drawing-room and peeped out.

      “Jack!” I exclaimed. “What has