“Major,” she said in her direct fashion, “I have brought an expert to look at the jewels.”

She indicated Hargrave, and the foreign officer bowed courteously.  Then he took two candles from the mantelpiece and placed them on a little table that stood in the center of the room.

He put three chairs round this table, sat down in one of them, unbuttoned the bosom of his coat and took out a big oblong jewel case.  The case was in an Oriental design and of great age.  The embroidered silk cover was falling apart.  He opened the case carefully, delicately, like one handling fragile treasure.  Inside, lying each in a little pocket that exactly fitted the outlines of the stone, were three rows of sapphires.  He emptied the jewels out on the table.

“Sir,” he said, speaking with a queer, hesitating accent, “it saddens one unspeakably to part with the ancient treasure of one’s family.”

Mrs. Farmingham said nothing whatever.  Hargrave stooped over the jewels and spread them out on top of, the table.  There were twenty-nine sapphires of the very finest quality.  He had never seen better sapphires anywhere.  He remembered seeing stones that were matched up better; but he had never seen individual stones that were any finer in anybody’s collection.  The foreigner was composed and silent while the American examined the jewels.  But Mrs. Farmingham moved restlessly in her chair.

“Well,” she said, “are they O. K.?”

“Yes, madam,” said Hargrave; “they are first-class stones.”

“Sure?” she asked.

“Quite sure, madam,” replied the American.  “There can be no question about it.”

“Are they worth eighteen thousand dollars?”

She put the question in such a way that Hargrave understood her perfectly.

“Well,” he said, “that depends upon a good many conditions.  But I’m willing to say, quite frankly, that if you don’t want the jewels I’m ready to take them for our house at eighteen thousand dollars.”

The big, dominant, aggressive woman made the gesture of one who cracks a dog whip.

“That’s all right,” she said.  Then she turned to the foreigner.  “Now, major, when do you want this money?”

The big old officer shrugged his shoulders and put out his hands.

“To-morrow, madam; to-morrow as I have said to you; before midday I must return.  I can by no means remain an hour longer; my leave of absence expires.  I must be in Bucharest at sunrise on the morning of the twelfth of October.  I can possibly arrive if I leave London to-morrow at midday, but not later.”

Mrs. Farmingham began to wag her head in a determined fashion.

“Nonsense,” she said, “I can’t get the money by noon.  I have telegraphed to the Credit Lyonnais in Paris.  I can get it by the day after to-morrow, or perhaps to-morrow evening.”

The foreigner looked down on the floor.

“It is impossible,” he said.