ears, covering the blazing gems from his sight, while a painful flush
leaped to her brow and lost itself beneath the soft rings of her
burnished hair.

"Yes," pursued Mr. Cutler, wondering at her confusion. "If I am any
judge, they are very valuable stones, and I suppose you might realize a
handsome sum upon them."

He was secretly planning to redeem them and restore them to her later, if
she should favorably regard his suit.

"But--but;" and her confusion became intensified a hundred-fold, "they
aren't _real_. I'd be glad enough if they were, and would willingly sell
them to cancel my indebtedness, but they are only _paste_, although an
excellent imitation."

Her companion regarded her with astonishment.

"You surely do not mean that?" he exclaimed, "for if I ever saw pure
white diamonds, those which you wear are certainly genuine."

"No, they are not," she returned, shaking her head with a positive air.
"I am very fond of diamonds and I had some very nice ones once, but they
were stolen from me just after my husband died. I could not afford to
replace them, just then, and I had these made to wear until I could do
so. They were made in Paris, where they are very clever at such work.
I hoped when my husband's estate was settled, I could have some real
stones again; but, of course, I cannot _now_," she regretfully concluded.

"Will you allow me to examine them, please?" Mr. Cutler asked, still sure