Mr. Cockayne thought he saw his opportunity for an oratorical flourish.

“It has been observed, my dear Theo,” said he, dipping the fingers of his right hand into the palm of his left, “by more than one acute observer, that the mind of the race whose country we are now——­”

Here Mrs. Cockayne rapped sharply the marble table before her with the end of her parasol, and said—­

“Mr. Cockayne, have you ordered any dinner for us?”

Mr. Cockayne meekly gave it up, and replied that he had secured places for the party at the table d’hote.

Satisfied on this score, the matron proceeded to inform that person whom in pleasant irony she called her lord and master, that she had set her heart on a brooch of the loveliest design it had ever been her good fortune to behold.

“At the L’Ombre—­what do you call it, my dear?” said the husband, blandly.

Mrs. Cockayne went through that stiffening process which ladies of dignity call drawing themselves up.

“You really surprise me, Mr. Cockayne.  If you mean it as a joke, I would have you know that people don’t joke with their wives; and I should think you ought to know by this time that I am not in the habit of wearing imitation jewellery.”

“I ought,” briefly responded Cockayne; and then he rapidly continued, in order to ward off the fire he knew his smart rejoinder would provoke—­

“Tell me where it was, my dear.  Suppose we go and look at it together.  I saw myself some exquisite Greek compositions in the Rue de la Paix, which both myself and Carrie admired immensely.”

“Greek fiddlesticks!  I want no Greek, nor any other old-fashioned ornaments, Mr. Cockayne.  One would think you were married to the oldest female inhabitant, by the way you talk; or that I had stepped out of the Middle Ages; or that I and Sphinx were twins.  But you must be so very clever, with your elevation of the working-classes, and those prize Robinson Crusoes you gave to the Ragged-school children—­which you know you got trade price.”

“Well, well,” poor Cockayne feebly expostulated, “if it’s not far, let us go and see the brooch.”

“There, mamma!” cried both Sophonisba and Theodosia in one breath.  “Mind, the one with the three diamonds.”

[Illustration:  MUSEE DU LUXEMBOURG.]

Mrs. Cockayne being of an exceedingly yielding temperament, allowed herself to be mollified, and sailed out of the hotel, with the blue veil hanging from her hat down her back, observing by the way that she should like to box those impudent Frenchmen’s ears who were lounging about the doorway, and who, she was sure, were looking at her.  Mr. Cockayne was unfortunate enough to opine that his wife was mistaken, and that the Frenchmen in question were not even looking in her direction.

“Of course not, Mr. Cockayne,” said the lady; “who would look at me, at my time of life?”