'They look awful,' said Arthur Prime. 'Cheap gilt, diamonds as big as potatoes. These are trappings of a ruder age than ours. Actors do themselves better now.'
'Oh, now,' said Charlotte, not to be less knowing, 'actresses have real diamonds,'
'Some of them.' Arthur spoke drily.
'I mean the bad ones—the nobodies too.'
'Oh, some of the nobodies have the biggest. But mamma wasn't of that sort.'
'A nobody?' Charlotte risked.
'Not a nobody to whom somebody—well, not a nobody with diamonds. It isn't all worth, this trash, five pounds.'
There was something in the old gewgaws that spoke to her, and she continued to turn them over. 'They're relics. I think they have their melancholy and even their dignity.'
Arthur observed another pause. 'Do you care for them?' he then asked. 'I mean,' he promptly added, 'as a souvenir.'
'Of you?' Charlotte threw off.
'Of me? What have I to do with it? Of your poor dead aunt who was so kind to you,' he said with virtuous sternness.
'Well, I would rather have them than nothing.'
'Then please take them,' he returned in a tone of relief which expressed somehow more of the eager than of the gracious.
'Thank you.' Charlotte lifted two or three objects up and set them down again. Though they were lighter than the materials they imitated they were so much more extravagant that they struck her in truth as rather an awkward heritage, to which she might have preferred even a matchbox or a pen wiper. They were indeed shameless pinchbeck. 'Had you any idea she had kept them?'
'I don't at all believe she had kept them or knew they were there, and I'm very sure my father didn't. They had quite equally worked off any tenderness for the connection. These odds and ends, which she thought had been given away or
