out a little mass of tiny sparkling crystals. They formed upon the table a small heap of glittering dust Mr. Brooke pointed to it with his hand.
"There's your rose brilliant, Fungst."
Mr. Fungst came forward. He leaned over the table. He stared at the gleaming atoms.
"Mein Gott! It's gone off bang!"
"As you say, my Fungst, it has gone off bang. Who was right, my Fungst? Personally, I never knew a diamond which, when attacked by the shivers, sooner or later did not go off bang. I am inclined to wager that even the Duchess of Datchet's beautiful rose brilliant will go off bang."
Her Grace stared. She had been a mystified spectator of the little scene which had been enacted before her eyes. Indeed, the whole proceedings were mysterious to her.
"Rose brilliant? What do you mean?"
"The rose brilliant in your Grace's hair."
"There is no rose brilliant in my hair. There is only the diamond which my husband gave me."
"Did not his Grace present you with a rose brilliant?"
"A rose brilliant? No! He gave me a white diamond."
"Then the transformation has happened since."
"Transformation? What do you mean?"
She took the jewel out of her hair. As her glance fell upon it the fashion of her countenance changed. She scarcely seemed to believe the evidence of her own eyes.
"This—this is not my diamond."
Mr. Brooke's laughing eyes were divided between her Grace and her Grace's jewel. "I think it is."
