ach," said she.

"I have," I said, "but a weak heart--and they are going to strengthen it
for me."

And there arose thenceforth a coolness between Mrs. Gordon-Colfax and
me, which proves once more that the Lord does just the right thing for
the right people at the right time.

SAPPHIRA

Mr. Hemingway had transacted a great deal of business with Miss
Tennant's father; otherwise he must have shunned the proposition upon
which she came to him. Indeed, wrinkling his bushy brows, he as much as
told her that he was a banker and not a pawnbroker.

Outside, the main street of Aiken, broad enough to have made five New
England streets, lay red and glaring in the sun. The least restless
shifting of feet by horses and mules tied to hitching-posts raised
clouds of dust, immense reddish ghosts that could not be laid. In the
bank itself, ordinarily a cool retreat, smelling faintly of tobacco
juice deposited by some of its clients, the mercury was swelling toward
ninety. It was April Fools' day, and unless Miss Tennant was cool,
nobody was. She looked cool. If the temperature had been 40 deg. below
zero she would have looked warm; but she would have been dressed
differently.

It was her great gift always to look the weather and the occasion; no
matter how or what she really felt. On the present occasion she wore a
very simple, inexpensive muslin, flowered with faint mauve lilacs, and a
wide, floppy straw-hat trimmed with the same. She had driven into town,
half a mile or more, without getting a speck of dust upon herself. Even
the corners of her eyes were like those of a newly laundered baby. She
smelled of tooth-powder (precipitated chalk and orris root), as was her
custom, and she wore no ring or ornament of any value. Indeed, such
jewels as she possessed, a graceful diamond necklace, a pearl collar, a
pearl pendant, and two cabochon sapphire rings, lay on the table between
her and Mr. Hemingway.

"I'm not asking the bank to do this for me," she said, and she looked
extra lovely (on purpose, of course). "I'm asking you----"

Mr. Hemingway poked the cluster of jewels very gingerly with his
forefinger as if they were a lizard.

"And, of course," she said, "they are worth twice the money; maybe three
or four times."

"Perhaps," said Mr. Hemingway, "you will take offence if I suggest that
your father----"

The muslin over her shoulders tightened the least in the world. She had
shrugged them.

"Of course," she sai