In the large compartment beneath was a heavy and hideous tiara of diamonds and emeralds. Mrs. Carteret sighed. “I suppose you’ll never wear it. I’m told such things are no longer in fashion. But many’s the time I wore it in the old Academy of Music—and in Covent Garden. Evelyn wore it in her day and was the most splendid figure in the Metropolitan Opera House. Her husband sent it back to me when she died. . . . Well, you can have the stones made into a necklace when you are older.” “I? Am I to have all these wonderful jewels?” “Who else? But you are not to sell them.” “I’d never dream of selling them. When I’m blue I’ll just take them out and play with them.” “That is the first sensible thing I’ve heard you say. And many are heirlooms, remember. . . . There was a magnificent diamond necklace your grandfather gave me, but it went to pay racing-debts after an unfortunate season at Saratoga. He was a good man, but insane about horses. I often feel thankful he died before this era of shrieking motors. They would have broken his heart. Sit down and play with these things now. I see they have cast a spell over you and I am beginning to feel hopeful.” Gita took a low chair beside the bed and poured the contents of the upper tray into her lap, letting the chains run through her fingers, trying on the bracelets and rings. The fine stones seemed to wink at her knowingly. “They’ll have to be reset,” said the old lady sadly. “Tout passé. Now,” she added briskly, “there’s another thing I want you to promise. If you don’t I’ll leave every one of these jewels to a hospital.” “Grandmother! Blackmail! What is it?” “You must wear mourning for me. I’m told it’s more or less out of date, but I believe in the decencies of life. You say neither you nor your mother approved of mourning, but that has nothing to do with me. You will do as I ask, I suppose?” “Of course.” Gita was in a mood to promise anything. “Well, that’s one point gained! And six months will be enough. I’m only your grandmother. But after that you are to dress not only like a girl, but a fashionable girl; you’ll give those ridiculous suits to the servants.” “But all the girls wear tailored suits—and as for sport——” “Like yours? No furbishing up?” “Oh, they wear scarves and bright hats—other things, I suppose. I’ve hardly noticed.” “But you have noticed they indulge in every feminine vanity, even if they’ve cut off the hair that Nature meant to be woman’s chief adornment and have neither the full busts nor the swelling hips that once made a beautiful woman’s ‘figger,’ as we called it. And the tiny waists!” “They must have looked horrid,” said Gita sincerely.