41Lily shook her head. She could not take so costly a gift from a complete stranger.

41

“I know it’s good,” went on her companion quickly, “for a chap who they say is a big Paris curiosity-dealer offered me five hundred francs for it this afternoon. I got it in a queer way. A poor old soul whom I noticed playing at the Rooms—the sort of woman who isn’t up to Club form—came up to me last evening and asked if I’d give her a hundred francs for it. I’m sorry now that I only gave her that much! It must be worth a good bit more than five hundred francs if a dealer offered that for it.”

He was still holding out the little shagreen case. “Look here,” he exclaimed again, “you take it—do!”

Lily shook her head decidedly. “I shouldn’t care to have anything so valuable, for I’ve no place to keep anything of that sort here,” she said a little awkwardly. “I’ve even had to ask the Countess to keep the money I brought from England.”

“Is that so?” he exclaimed. “But this little box isn’t as valuable as all that! Do take it, Miss Fairfield.”

But Lily shook her head again, even more decidedly than before. “Honestly, I’d rather not,” she said firmly.

“All right! I’ll just give it to the next pretty girl I meet.” He looked hurt and angry.

“Please forgive me!” Lily was really sorry. Was she making a fuss about nothing? And yet—and yet she knew that the box was worth twenty pounds at least.

The door opened. “Supper is quite ready,” said the Count, in his refined, rather mincing voice. “The Countess awaits you in the dining-room.”

The curious, windowless apartment was lit by candles set in four cut-glass candlesticks on the table itself, and by two silver candelabra on the sideboard. Silver bowls full of delicious hot soup were standing ready on the round table, but the rest of the meal was cold.

The waiting was done deftly and quickly by Cristina; she had put on a lace cap and apron, and she looked a quaint 42and charming figure, in spite of her age. But Lily was concerned at her look of illness and fatigue. Cristina to-night was terribly, unnaturally pale.

42

Mr. Ponting, who sat opposite his host, did not need much entertaining, for he did all the talking, and ate but little of the 

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