er's ear-rings! Uncle
Aubrey would be so angry if he knew I'd sold them. I daren't face
Uncle Aubrey."

"Has he expectations from Uncle Aubrey?" Sir Charles asked of
White Heather.

Mrs. Brabazon laughed. "Uncle Aubrey! Oh, dear, no. Poor dear old
Uncle Aubrey! Why, the darling old soul hasn't a penny to bless
himself with, except his pension. He's a retired post captain."
And she laughed melodiously. She was a charming woman.

"Then I should disregard Uncle Aubrey's feelings," Sir Charles
said decisively.

"No, no," the curate answered. "Poor dear old Uncle Aubrey! I
wouldn't do anything for the world to annoy him. And he'd be sure
to notice it."

We went back to Amelia. "Well, have you got them?" she asked.

"No," Sir Charles answered. "Not yet. But he's coming round, I
think. He's hesitating now. Would rather like to sell them himself,
but is afraid what 'Uncle Aubrey' would say about the matter. His
wife will talk him out of his needless consideration for Uncle
Aubrey's feelings; and to-morrow we'll finally clench the bargain."

Next morning we stayed late in our salon, where we always
breakfasted, and did not come down to the public rooms till just
before dejeuner, Sir Charles being busy with me over arrears of
correspondence. When we _did_ come down the concierge stepped
forward with a twisted little feminine note for Amelia. She took
it and read it. Her countenance fell. "There, Charles," she cried,
handing it to him, "you've let the chance slip. I shall _never_ be
happy now! They've gone off with the diamonds."

Charles seized the note and read it. Then he passed it on to me.
It was short, but final:--

"Thursday, 6 a.m.

"DEAR LADY VANDRIFT--_Will_ you kindly excuse our having gone off
hurriedly without bidding you good-bye? We have just had a horrid
telegram to say that Dick's favourite sister is _dangerously_ ill of
fever in Paris. I wanted to shake hands with you before we left--you
have all been so sweet to us--but we go by the morning train,
absurdly early, and I wouldn't for worlds disturb you. Perhaps some
day we may meet again--though, buried as we are in a North-country
village, it isn't likely; but in any case, you have secured the
grateful recollection of Yours very cordially, JESSIE BRABAZON.

"P.S.--Kindest regards to Sir Charles and those _dear_ Wentworths,
and a kiss for yourself, if I may venture to send you one."

"She doesn't even mention where they've gone," Amelia exclai