Becky was not ill-favored. Her black, silky hair, as fine as a Skye terrier's, curled around a comely head. Her complexion was soft and dark, and her figure light and easy in its movement. These peculiarities, together with her way of fondling the pearls, did not escape Mr. Ricketty's calculating observation. "Becky," he began blandly. "Who told you to call me 'Becky'?" she angrily demanded. "Daughter of Canaan, lend me thine ear, itself as fair as any of these gems of the Southern Sea." "Oh, come off!" said Becky. "It has cost me many pangs to bring these jewels here--" "And you're going to sell them at so much the pang, I s'pose." "For hours together have I walked up and down the Bowery, trying to rouse my feeble courage. But when I would stop under the three golden balls, I seemed to see a sneer on every passer's lips. They were all saying, 'There goes Steve Ricketty, about to sell his fond mother's pearls.' The thought choked me, Becky, it burned my filial heart." "Don't seem as if it did your cheek no harm," observed Becky dryly. "But when I saw your face through the window there, so beautiful and sympathetic, I said to myself, 'There is a true woman. She will feel for me and my grief.' Suppose we make it two hundred and fifty. Come, Becky, the pearls are yours for two hundred and fifty." "I wont." "Am I deceived? No, no, it can't be true. I will not believe--" "I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll give you two hundred to get rid of you." Mr. Ricketty picked up a little hand-glass that lay upon the counter and placed it before her face. "Look there," he said, "and tell me what it is that makes Rebecca so heartless. Not those lustrous eyes, so frank and warm; not that--" "Oh, now, stop that." "Not that sensitive, shapely nose--" "Well, I thank goodness it's got no such bulge on it as yours." "Not those refined lips, arched like the love-god's bow and many times as dangerous; not those cheeks--those soft peach-tinted cheeks, telling in dainty blushes--" "Oh, six bright stars!" "Of a soul pure as a sunbeam--" "Now, I want you to stop and go 'way. I wont take your old pearls at any price." "Not that brow--that fair, enameled brow--nor yet that creamy throat. Think, sweet Becky, just how these pearls would look clasped with their diamond catch about that creamy throat. I fear to show you lest their luster pale. But yet, I will! See!" and catching up the jewels he threw them about her neck and held the glass steadily before her. Becky looked. It was evidently not a new idea to Becky. She had all along been considering just the situation Mr. Ricketty proposed, and when he finally dropped the pearls and struck an attitude of profound admiration, Becky snatched the prize from her neck, slid it into a drawer under the counter, and drew a leather purse from the safe behind her. She had begun to count out the money, when a figure passing the window caught her eye.