“How was he to know?” De Costa, senior, appealed to the ceiling in his exasperation. “How was he to know that I should not waste my time picking up curios for a moon-calf? Oh, Gregory Marcus de Costa, you make me tire!” It was chee-chee now. All the Eurasian in him was indicated in his voice and his manner. Tears of rage stood in his eyes. Only a man of iron will could have overcome his natural disabilities as did old De Costa, because of a sudden he became very calm. “You must go at once to Miss Yale, and on any excuse whatever you must regain possession of that bracelet. Tell her,” he bent his brows in thought, “tell her that you have learnt that it came from somebody who was suffering with the plague. Tell her anything--but get the bangle. She shall have diamonds in its stead. Go!” “I’m awfully sorry, governor,” began Gregory. The old man bared his teeth. “Get out!” he said savagely. Gregory de Costa went to his room with a grievance and a fear. Suppose Yvonne Yale would not surrender this precious circle of jade? Suppose she were hurt--no such luck! The worst and the most likely thing that could happen would be that she would seize an excellent and providential opportunity for ridding herself of an undesirable suitor. He dressed himself with care, swearing at his reflection in the glass as at his worst enemy. He counted his money mechanically before transferring it from one pocket to the other--a frugal soul was Gregory de Costa!--and examined with care the interior of his pocket-book. He would avail himself of his father’s offer. It would be a diamond bracelet which he would offer as a substitute, and no girl in her senses could refuse that. He found consolation in the prospect, and finished his dressing carefully. The Yales, mother and daughter, lived in a tiny house in Upper Curzon Street--a little house which had managed to squeeze itself between two more imposing façades and strove unsuccessfully to pretend that it had been there all the time. Miss Yale was alone, the servant informed him, and added with the garrulous familiarity of a servant from whom her mistress had no secrets, that she had gone to the bank. In the little drawing-room on the first floor Mr. de Costa junior found a lady who was coldly polite and undisguisedly surprised to see him at that hour in the morning. He blundered to his fate. “Fact is, Miss Yvonne----” he began. “Miss Yale,” she corrected him with a little smile. “Sorry. Fact is, there’s been a plague.” “A plague?” He nodded vigorously, satisfied with the sensation he had created. “But I’m afraid that I don’t understand,” she said. “Where is the plague, and what has it to do with me?” “In China,” he lied glibly. “Thousands of fellows dead. My governor is awfully upset; that bracelet, you know.” She began to comprehend, and nodded.