“Oh, nonsense, Jack!” protested Delroy. “Stop your croaking. Do you want to frighten Edith?”
“I’m not so easily frightened,” said Mrs. Delroy, smiling at her husband, though Drysdale fancied she had grown a little pale, and bit his tongue for his thoughtless remark.
“Fortunately,” said Tremaine suavely, “the defect is one which is very easily remedied. A few days’ bath in salt water will restore their brilliancy.”
“Well,” asked Delroy, in some amusement, “where did you run across that bit of information?”
Tremaine laughed.
“I’m almost ashamed to tell. I got it first in a newspaper story about the Empress of Austria. She had a necklace of pearls that turned dull, and she sent them down to the Mediterranean to be immersed.”
“What made them turn dull?” Drysdale inquired.
“No one knew,” answered Tremaine with seeming carelessness. “It was just before the Empress was assassinated.”
A moment’s painful silence followed the words.
“It may have been only a newspaper yarn,” said Delroy, at last. “We’ve outgrown the superstitions of the Middle Ages.”
“Very possibly,” assented Tremaine; “still it might be worth asking some jeweller about. Mrs. Delroy’s necklace is worth saving,” and he examined it with the glance of a connoisseur.
It invited examination, for it was almost unique in its perfection. It had been Delroy’s one great extravagance. He had spent many years collecting the stones, which were of a beautiful iridescence and per-
