Читать книгу The Carcellini Emerald, With Other Tales онлайн

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“Do you think she will trust us?” asked Mrs. Anstey, who had turned to catch the latter part of Gertrude’s chatter. “I have always been dying to have a good look at the Carcellini emerald.”

“Trust us? Of course. She often sends it around the table for her friends to handle. Now watch me telegraph her, and see if she doesn’t understand.”

Leaning forward, the young lady managed to convey to her mother the request. Shaking her finger at the suppliant, yet amiably acquiescent, Mrs. Ellison drew from her left hand an object, which, amid flattering enthusiasm from her guests, began its journey around the table. Little cries of delight from the women, more restrained expressions of admiration from the men, followed the beautiful well of green fire in its progress.

“Now look!” said Mrs. Anstey, when it came to her. Slipping the ring upon her hand—a pretty hand, we may be sure—where it sent into prompt eclipse all the rest of her outfit of jewels, she held it up for Carmichael to view. “Did you ever see such a beauty?” she exclaimed. “I declare I shall go home and never sleep a wink to-night for coveting it! Such color, such luster, and such size! It ought to be on the turban of a Grand Mogul.”