44
“Oh, Oswald,” cried my aunt, “Myra is so keen! I’m not clever enough to fool Myra. Can’t you just put them away in your office?”
“Not very well. Besides,” he gave a slightly embarrassed laugh, “I’d like to wear them. They are very pretty.”
“Now, Oswald . . .”
“Oh, it’s all right, Lydia, I give you my word it is. But you know how a little thing of that sort can upset my wife. I thought you might give them to me when you come over to dine with us to-morrow night. She wouldn’t be jealous of you. But if you don’t like the idea . . . why, just take them home with you and give them to some nice boy who would appreciate them.”
All through the Christmas service I could see that Aunt Lydia was distracted and perplexed. As soon as we got back to the hotel and were safe in our rooms she took the brown leather case from her muff and opened it. The sleeve-buttons were topazes, winy-yellow, lightly set in crinkly
