The leaping of the flames on the hearth made quaint arabesques of shadow
on the rough walls and the wind sighed and sobbed in the chimney. Thus
they sat for an hour or two in silence and then Seagreave lifted his
eyes and stole one of his swift and frequent glances at Pearl. Something
he saw riveted his attention and he continued to gaze, forgetful of his
book, of his past resolutions, of anything in the world but her.

She was just loosening the cord which bound the throat of a small black
leather bag, and while he watched her she poured its contents into her
lap and sat bending over a handful of loose and sparkling jewels. She
was not aware of his scrutiny, but sat in complete absorption, her dark,
shining head bent over them, lifting them, turning them this way and
that to catch the firelight, letting them trickle through her long,
brown fingers.

There, sparkling in the fire-glow, was the desire of the world, the
white, streaming flame of diamonds, the heart's blood of rubies, and
sapphires--the blue of the sea and the sky--all their life and radiance
imprisoned in a dew-drop.

"How beautiful they are!" he cried involuntarily, but what he really
meant was, "How beautiful you are!"

She started and looked up at him in surprise. "Yes, they are," she said.
"I have been gathering them for a long time. There are only a few, but
every one is flawless."

"I never considered jewels before." He bent forward the better to see
them. "I have often seen women wear them, but I just regarded them as a
part of their decoration. Yet I can understand now why you love them.