I told you yesterday
that nothing would induce me to live at Laburnum Villa; but I will
certainly come to you, mums, in the holidays, if you wish it."

"But, dear child, there is no money to keep you at that expensive
school. There isn't a penny."

"Oh, well, well, mother, perhaps that can be managed. But now we
needn't talk any more about my future until after Mr. Martin has had
tea with you to-day. If you have any news for me when I return from
Richmond you can let me know."

"You are a very independent girl to go to Richmond by yourself."

"Oh, that'll be all right," said Maggie in a cheerful tone.

"Have you anything else to say to me?"

"Yes. You know all that beautiful jewellery that my dear father
brought back with him from those different countries where he spent
his life."

Mrs. Howland looked mysterious and frightened.

"It was meant for me eventually, was it not?" said Maggie.

"Oh, well, I suppose so; only, somehow, I have a life-interest in
it."

"You won't want for jewellery when you are Mr. Martin's wife."

"Indeed no; why, he has given me a diamond ornament for my hair
already. He means to take me out a great deal, he says."

"Out!--oh mother--in his set!"

"Well, dear child, I shall get accustomed to that."

"Don't you think you might give me father's jewellery?" said Maggie.

"Is it worth a great deal?" said Mrs. Howland. "I never could bear to
look at it--that is, since he died."

"You haven't given it to Mr. Martin, have you, mother?"

"No, nor said a word about it to him either."

"Well, suppose, now that we have a quiet time, we look at the
jewellery?" said Maggie.

"Very well," said Mrs. Howland. Then she added, "I was half-tempted to
sell some of it; but your father was so queer, and the things seemed
so very ugly and unlike what is worn, that I never had the heart to
part with them. I don't suppose they'd fetch a great deal."

"Let's look at them," said Maggie.

Mrs. Howland half-rose from her chair, then sank back again.

"No," she said, "I am afraid of them. Your father told me so many
stories about each and all. He courted death to get some of them, and
others came into his hands through such extraordinary adventures that
I shudder at night when I recall what he said. I want to forget them.
Mr. Martin would never admire them at all. I want to forget all my
past life absolutely. You're like your father, and perhaps you admire
that sort of thing; but they are not to