"There are gods enough in it to be divine," said Rose, taking it from Lu's hand and bringing it back to me. "All those very Gnostic deities who assisted at Creation. You are not afraid that the imprisoned things work their spells upon you? The oracle declares it suits your cousin best," he added, in a lower tone. "All the oaf knows!" I responded. "I wish you'd admire it, Mr. Dudley. Mr. Rose don't like amber,--handles it like nettles." "No," said Rose, "I don't like amber." "He prefers aqua-marina," I continued. "Lu, produce yours!" For she had not heard him. "Yes," said Mr. Dudley, rubbing his finger over his lip while he gazed, "every one must prefer aqua-marina." "Nonsense! It's no better than glass. I'd as soon wear a set of window-panes. There's no expression in it. It isn't alive, like real gems." Mr. Dudley stared. Rose laughed. "What a vindication of amber!" he said. He was standing now, leaning against the mantel, just as he was before lunch. Lu looked at him and smiled. "Yone is exultant, because we both wanted the beads," she said. "I like amber as much as she." "Nothing near so much, Lu!" "Why didn't you have them, then?" asked Rose, quickly. "Oh, they belonged to Yone; and uncle gave me these, which I like better. Amber is warm, and smells of the earth; but this is cool and dewy, and"---- "Smells of heaven?" asked I, significantly. Mr. Dudley began to fidget, for he saw no chance of finishing his exposition. "As I was saying, Miss Louisa," he began, in a different key. I took my beads and wound them round my wrist. "You haven't as much eye for color as a poppy-bee," I exclaimed, in a corresponding key, and looking up at Rose. "Unjust. I was thinking then how entirely they suited you." "Thank you. Vastly complimentary from one who 'don't like amber'!" "Nevertheless, you think so." "Yes and no. Why don't you like it?" "You mustn't ask me for my reasons. It is not merely disagreeable, but hateful." "And you've been beside me, like a Christian, all this time, and I had it!" "The perfume is acrid; I associate it with the lower jaw of St. Basil the Great, styled a present of immense value, you remember,--being hard, heavy, shining like gold, the teeth yet in it, and with a smell more delightful than amber,"--making a mock shudder at the word. "Oh, it is prejudice, then." "Not in the least. It is antipathy. Besides, the thing is unnatural; there is no existent cause for it. A bit that turns up on certain sands,--here at home, for aught I know, as often as anywhere." "Which means Nazareth. We must teach you, Sir, that there are some things at home as rare as those abroad." "I am taught," he said, very low, and without looking up. "Just tell me, what is amber?" "Fossil gum."