“Yes; but he said, ‘You look like a stoker, don’t you? Why, you’re a gentleman! You couldn’t stand the engine-room for an hour. However, as I see you are not proud and they are short of hands in the stewards’ pantry, they might take you on to wash plates.’” Lady Kesters made no remark; her expression was sufficiently eloquent. “‘All right,’ I agreed, ‘I’ll do my little best.’ So I was made over to the head steward. We carried a full number of passengers that trip, and, when one of the saloon waiters fell sick, I was promoted into his place, as I was clean and civil. Needless to say, I was thankful to get away from the horrors of greasy plates and the fag of cleaning knives. I can wait pretty well, the ladies liked me--yes, and I liked them--and when we docked at Southampton yesterday, Owen, as they called me, received nearly six pounds in tips, not to speak of a steamer chair and a white umbrella!” As he concluded, he walked over to the fire and stood with his back to it. His sister surveyed him reflectively; she was thinking how impossible it was to realise that her well-bred, smart-looking brother, in his admirably cut clothes, and air of easy self-possession, had, within twenty-four hours, been a steward at the beck and call of the passengers on a liner. However, all she said was-- “So at any rate you have made a start, and begun to earn money already.” “Oh, that’s nothing new. I was never quite broke;” and, diving into his pocket, he produced a little parcel, which he tossed into her lap. “For me?” “For who else?” He watched her attentively as she untied the narrow bit of red and yellow ribbon, unfolded a flat box, and discovered a beautiful plaque or clasp in old Spanish paste. The design was exquisite, and the ornament flashed like a coruscation of Brazilian diamonds. “Oh, Owen, how perfect!” she gasped; “but how dare you? It must have cost a fortune--as much as your passage money,” and she looked up at him interrogatively. “Never mind; it was a bargain. I picked it up in a queer, poky little shop, and it’s real old, old Spanish--time of Ferdinand and Isabella they said--and I felt I’d like to take something home to you; it will look jolly well on black, eh?” “Do you know it’s just the sort of thing that I have been aching to possess,” she said, now holding it against her gown. “If you had searched for a year you couldn’t have given me anything I liked so much--so beautiful in itself, so rare and ancient, and so uncommon that not one of my dear friends can copy it. Oh, it’s a _treasure_”--standing up to look at her reflection as she held the jewel against her bodice--“but all the same, it was wicked of you to buy it!” “There are only the two of us, Sis, and why shouldn’t I give myself that pleasure?” “What a pretty speech!” and she patted his arm approvingly. At this moment Payne entered, salver in hand. “A telegram for you, my lady.”