Brett was not in the least displeased to be left with Miss Cole. He had often thought, on seeing her from a distance, that she promised to reward closer inspection, although he was not sufficiently interested to go out of his way to make it. Given this opportunity, he saw with satisfaction not only that his guess was confirmed but that she exceeded expectation. She could hardly be called pretty. Her cheekbones were very broad and high, and seemed to push her grey-green eyes upwards at the outer corners. Her eyebrows, dark as the hair of her head was fair, followed the same sharply slanting line. Her nose was short and high-bridged, her mouth wide, with the upper lip much thinner than the lower. Had the face been dull or lethargic it would have been plain; but it was suffused by a vitality so bright as to blend its somewhat uneven features into a striking whole. Everything about her proclaimed youth and health; her downy skin, the straightness of her back, the liveliness of all her movements. Brett put her age at not more than seventeen.

He couldn’t fail to observe, however, that at the moment her expression seemed resentful and suspicious. She stood quite still, her hands resting on the edge of the case. She didn’t meet his eyes, didn’t so much as glance in his direction. She looked, in fact, as if she begrudged having to serve him.

“What I want,” said Brett, “is one about this size, but with a plain rim, and not carved simply with a head. The one I want to replace was of two women dancing. Show me some like that, if you have them.”

Her face seemed to darken even further. For a couple of seconds she didn’t move; so that Brett was on the point of saying something quite sharply; then with a swiftness that belied her sulky face she turned to an elegant cabinet, opened its door, and slipped out a small tray, from which she picked one brooch. She held it out to Brett without a word.

He gathered himself for a concise sarcasm on the range of selection available; then stopped it. Her hand was shaking. He took the brooch without hurrying, looking at her. From time to time she folded her lips tightly, causing a tiny commotion in each cheek. It occurred to Brett that the pinkness of those cheeks might not altogether be due to well-being. He had glanced up from the cameos too often and too noticeably, and she was discomposed. At once her whole demeanour was presented in a new light. Her apparent scowl was due simply to the line of her eyebrows. She was young, the uttermost junior; and very nervous.

“Thank you,” he said, and looked down at the brooch.