“Very well. Come in at three, and I’ll try to have them weighed before that. These earrings are hollow, I guess, and there ain’t so very much gold in this open-faced watch. Here’s a receipt.” He scrawled something on a bit of paper which he gave to Victoria, and she thanked him and left the shop. She then took her way to a picture store. It was a large one that was much frequented, and it required some determination on her part to go in and display her wares. The clerks were such fashionably dressed young men that she felt somewhat in awe of them, and they all appeared to be so busy that it was long before she was noticed at all. At last, however, one of them stepped up to her and asked her what she wished. For a moment Victoria could not find her voice, and when she finally spoke it was so low and trembling that the clerk could not understand her. “You wish to look at etchings?” said he. “Right over here, please. Summers, show this young lady some etchings. I have another customer.” And he turned to a gentleman who was looking at some pictures with the air of intending to buy one if not more. “Oh, no,” said Victoria. “You have made a mistake. I don’t want to look at etchings. I want to sell those I have here. I thought that—that perhaps—you would buy them.” Her voice was now perfectly audible. In her effort to make herself understood it reached farther than she intended. The two clerks and the gentleman who stood there all turned and looked at Victoria, and she with her package under her arm felt as though she should like to sink through the floor and disappear forever from their sight. CHAPTER VIII. UNEXPECTED GENEROSITY. BUT this was no time in which to give way to embarrassment. Having undertaken the expedition in search of funds, Victoria felt that she must carry it bravely through, come what would. With fingers that trembled conspicuously she untied the cord and removed the wrappings, and presently disclosed to the view of the three men four etchings of such rare merit that they exclaimed with admiration. “Ah, artist’s proofs!” said the gentleman who had been looking at pictures. “And a signature worth having,” he added, as he glanced at the name written beneath the etching he held in his hand. “May I ask what the price of this one is?” “I—I don’t exactly know,” faltered Victoria. “I thought they could tell me here what they are worth. You see my father bought them and—” She stopped abruptly. She did not wish to take these strangers into her confidence, but the three men saw her black dress and imagined the rest. And yet she did not look as if she were in need of money. “I should think they were worth twenty-five dollars apiece, should not you?” said the gentleman, turning to the clerks.