“I was sent for to go to the Hospital St. ‘Don’t tell me. There was also a curious interview at a big hotel with a middle-aged, white-powdered woman, all covered with jewels and reeking of scent, who wanted a Companion. This is not honourable. You will go out at once, if you please. Oh, peste, he will ruin all. “It is your sister and her husband,” he said. Brendon made a quick movement forward. And opposite to him, with a book in his hand,—but it couldn't be a prayer-book,—sat Jonathan Wild, in a parson's cassock and band. It was a precious thing, a beautiful cabochon—do you know what that is?” “What’s a cabochon?” “It’s a precious jewel that doesn’t have facets yet. She arrived about nine o’clock the next evening in a state of tremulous enthusiasm. A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. She knew the significance: the red corpuscle was being burnt out by the fires of alcohol.
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