examining the jewel and noticing its flawless shape and lustre,
silently opened a drawer, drew a cheque, and handed it to Prince Louis
without a word. That afternoon my father presented my mother with "La
Pelegrina." To my mother it was an unceasing source of anxiety. The
pearl had never been bored, and was so heavy that it was constantly
falling from its setting. Three times she lost it; three times she
found it again. Once at a ball at Buckingham Palace, on putting her
hand to her neck, she found that the great pearl had gone. She was
much distressed, knowing how upset my father would be. On going into
supper, she saw "La Pelegrina" gleaming at her from the folds of the
velvet train of the lady immediately in front of her. Again she lost
it at Windsor Castle, and it was found in the upholstery of a sofa. As
a child, on the rare occasions when "La Pelegrina" came out of its
safe, I loved to stroke and smooth its sleek, satin-like sheen. The
great pearl somehow fascinated me. When it came into my brother's
possession after my father's death, he had "La Pelegrina" bored,
though it impaired its value, so my sister-in-law was able to wear the
great jewel as often as she wished without running the constant danger
of losing it. I liked that distant glimpse of the Pearl Islands, for
they were the birthplace of the jewel which had attracted me so
curiously as a child.

We returned from Panama by a train after dark. As the night-air from
the swamps has the reputation of being deadly, every window in the car
was shut. I noticed a dark-skinned citizen of either Peru or Ecuador
in some difficulties with the conductor, owing to his lack of
knowledge of English. The Peruvian pulled up a window (_up_ on
the American Continent, not _down_ as with us) and sat in the
full draught of the night-air. A pleasant young Irishman named Martin,
a near relative of the Miss Martin who collaborated with Miss