Octavia stared at her for a moment uncomprehendingly.

"Your jewels, I mean, my love," fluttered Miss Belinda. "Surely you don't
wear them often. I declare, it quite frightens me to think of having such
things in the house."

"Does it?" said Octavia. "That's queer."

And she looked puzzled for a moment again.

Then she glanced down at her rings.

"I nearly always wear these," she remarked. "Father gave them to me. He
gave me one each birthday for three years. He says diamonds are an
investment, anyway, and I might as well have them. These," touching the
ear-rings and clasp, "were given to my mother when she was on the stage.
A lot of people clubbed together, and bought them for her. She was a
great favorite."

Miss Belinda made another clutch at the handle of the teapot.

"Your mother!" she exclaimed faintly. "On the--did you say, on the"--

"Stage," answered Octavia. "San Francisco. Father married her there. She
was awfully pretty. I don't remember her. She died when I was born. She
was only nineteen."

The utter calmness, and freedom from embarrassment, with which these
announcements were made, almost shook Miss Belinda's faith in her own