“But the gentleman to whom I submitted them—­a jeweler and an expert—­made me an offer for them,” and he named the sum.

“So much?” murmured the fair woman, flushing.  “Ah, it would be such a help.”

“This offer,” Mr. Cutler resumed, “is to remain open to you for three days, and you can take them to him within that time if you see fit, and Mr. Arnold will give you the money.”

Mrs. Bently made a sudden gesture of repulsion, her head drooped, a flush swept up to her brow, and tears rushed to her eyes.

“Poor little woman!” said Justin Cutler to himself, “it humiliates her to think of selling her jewels—­of course it must.”

Then he asked, after a moment of thought: 

“Would you accept the amount that Mr. Arnold offered?”

“Why, yes, if—­if you are sure that they are real, and think it would be right for me to do so,” she answered, with a somewhat troubled expression on her fair face.

“Of course it will be perfectly right; the man knew what he was talking about, for, as I told you, he is a diamond expert, and he examined them with the utmost care.”

“The amount would be very acceptable,” said the fair widow, musingly, “and I shall be glad to sell them; but—­”

“The thought of going personally to sell your jewels humiliates you,” the generous-hearted young man added; “then let me do it for you, and relieve you of the disagreeable task.”

“How kind you are; how you read my very thoughts; but I do not like to trouble you,” murmured the beautiful woman, with a quiver of her red lips and a thrilling glance.  “And yet,” she continued, “I must have money at once.  I was going to my lawyer this morning to beg him to try and raise something for me in some way, for I must settle my bill here to-day.  I have dismissed my maid and engaged a room at No. 10 ——­ street, and am going there this afternoon.  Oh!  Mr. Cutler, it is very hard to be obliged to confess my poverty,” and she had to abruptly cease her remarks, in order to preserve her self-control, for she seemed upon the point of breaking down utterly.

“Mrs. Bently,” said the young man, with sudden impulse, “let me relieve you from all unpleasantness; let me advance you the sum which Mr. Arnold named; then I can take the crescents to him and he will make it right with me.”

A peculiar smile lingered about his lips as he concluded.

“That is exceedingly kind of you,” Mrs. Bently said, gratefully, “but, truly, Mr. Cutler, I am almost afraid to take you at your word.”

“Why?”

“Because I have always regarded the crescents as paste, and—­and I cannot quite divest myself of the idea even now, in spite of your assurance,” she answered, with a clouded brow.

Her companion laughed aloud.

“I will be responsible for their genuineness,” he returned.  “See!” he added, drawing a card from his pocket and writing rapidly upon it.  “I will give you this to ease your conscience.”