Edward and Algernon journeyed down to Fairly together, after the confidence which the astute young lawyer had been compelled to repose in his cousin.  Sir William Blancove was to be at Fairly, and it was at his father’s pointed request that Edward had accepted Mrs. Lovell’s invitation.  Half in doubt as to the lady’s disposition toward him, Edward eased his heart with sneers at the soft, sanguinary graciousness they were to expect, and racked mythology for spiteful comparisons; while Algernon vehemently defended her with a battering fire of British adjectives in superlative.  He as much as hinted, under instigation, that he was entitled to defend her; and his claim being by-and-by yawningly allowed by Edward, and presuming that he now had Edward in his power and need not fear him, he exhibited his weakness in the guise of a costly gem, that he intended to present to Mrs. Lovell—­an opal set in a cross pendant from a necklace; a really fine opal, coquetting with the lights of every gem that is known:  it shot succinct red flashes, and green, and yellow; the emerald, the amethyst, the topaz lived in it, and a remote ruby; it was veined with lightning hues, and at times it slept in a milky cloud, innocent of fire, quite maidenlike.

“That will suit her,” was Edward’s remark.

“I didn’t want to get anything common,” said Algernon, making the gem play before his eyes.

“A pretty stone,” said Edward.

“Do you think so?”

“Very pretty indeed.”

“Harlequin pattern.”

“To be presented to Columbine!”

“The Harlequin pattern is of the best sort, you know.  Perhaps you like the watery ones best?  This is fresh from Russia.  There’s a set I’ve my eye on.  I shall complete it in time.  I want Peggy Lovell to wear the jolliest opals in the world.  It’s rather nice, isn’t it?”

“It’s a splendid opal,” said Edward.

“She likes opals,” said Algernon.

“She’ll take your meaning at once,” said Edward.

“How?  I’ll be hanged if I know what my meaning is, Ned.”

“Don’t you know the signification of your gift?”

“Not a bit.”

“Oh! you’ll be Oriental when you present it.”

“The deuce I shall!”

“It means, ‘You’re the prettiest widow in the world.’”

“So she is.  I’ll be right there, old boy.”

“And, ’You’re a rank, right-down widow, and no mistake; you’re everything to everybody; not half so innocent as you look:  you’re green as jealousy, red as murder, yellow as jaundice, and put on the whiteness of a virgin when you ought to be blushing like a penitent.’  In short, ’You have no heart of your own, and you pretend to possess half a dozen:  you’re devoid of one steady beam, and play tricks with every scale of colour:  you’re an arrant widow, and that’s what you are.’  An eloquent gift, Algy.”

“Gad, if it means all that, it’ll be rather creditable to me,” said Algernon.  “Do opals mean widows?”