required
money he set to work and labored to produce what would bring him in the
cash. He made several attempts before he reached the editor's level,
which was low rather than high, and succeeded in getting the tale
accepted. With three golden pounds in his pocket and exultation in his
heart--for every success seemed to bring him nearer to Sylvia--Paul
returned to his aerial castle and found waiting for him the expected
letter.

It was written in a low-spirited sort of way, characteristic of Mrs.
Beecot, but with a true motherly heart. After two pages of lamentation
over his absence, and a description of how the head of the household
managed to bear up against the affliction of his son's absence, Mrs.
Beecot proceeded to explain about the brooch.

"Why do you ask me about the opal brooch, my dear boy?" wrote Mrs.
Beecot in her scratchy handwriting. "All I know is that your father
bought it out of a pawnbroker's shop in Stowley, which is some town in
the Midlands. Your father was travelling there and saw the brooch by
chance. As I always thought opals unlucky he was anxious to make me see
the folly of such a superstition, so he bought the brooch and took it
away with him. Afterwards, I believe, he received a letter from the
pawnbroker, saying that his assistant had sold the brooch by mistake,
that the time for redeeming it had not run out when your father bought
it. The pawnbroker asked that the brooch might be returned, and wanted
to pay back the money. But you know what your father is. He refused at
once to give back the brooch, and insisted on my wearing it. I had a bad
fall while wearing it, and then was thrown out of that high dog-cart
your father would insist on driving. I am sure the brooch or the stones
is unlucky, and, as after a time your father forgot all about it, I let
it lie in my jewel-case. For years I had not worn it, and as I think it
is unlucky, and as you need money, my darling boy, I hope you will sell
it. There is no need to pawn it as you say. I never want to see the
brooch again. But regarding your health, etc., etc."

So Mrs. Beecot wrote in her verbose style, and with some errors of
grammar. Paul saw in her simple tale fresh evidence of his father's
tyranny, since he made his wife wear gems she detested and was
superstitiously set against possessing them. The dog-cart episode Paul
remembered very well. Mr. Beecot, in his amiable way, had no patience
with his wife's nerves, and never lost an o