The Green Satin Gown | Page 8

in every light, polishing it, breathing on it,
then polishing it again. Gregory's hands twitched with eagerness, and
Mary felt almost faint with suspense.
"You found this in the rags?" he asked at length, turning to Mary. He
spoke in his ordinary even tone, and Mary's heart sank, she could not
have told why.
"Yes, sir!" she faltered. "I found it in a blue jacket. It was in between
the stuff and the lining. There were glass buttons on the jacket."

She drew them from her pocket and held them out; but Mr. Gordon,
after a glance, waved them back.
"Those are of no value!" he said. "About this brooch, I am not so sure.
The stones may be real stones--I incline to think they are; but it is
possible that they may be paste. The imitations are sometimes very
perfect; no one but a jeweller can tell positively. I will take it to Boston
with me to-morrow, and have it examined."
He dropped the brooch into a drawer at his side, turned the key and put
it in his pocket, all in his quiet, methodical way, as if he were in the
habit of examining diamond brooches every day; then he nodded kindly
to the pair, and bent over his papers again.
Mary went out silently, and Gregory followed her with a dazed look on
his strong features. He looked back at the door two or three times, but
said nothing till they were back in the finishing-room.
Then--"It's one of his days!" he said. "I've knowed him ever since his
mustash growed, and there's days when he's struck with a dumb sperit,
just like Scriptur'. Don't you fret, Mary! He'll see you righted, or I'll
give you my head."
Mary might have thought that Mr. Gregory's head would be of little use
to her without the rest of him. She felt sadly dashed and disappointed.
She hardly knew what she had expected, but it was something very
different from this calm, every-day reception, this total disregard of her
own and her companion's excitement.
"I guess he thinks they're nothing great!" she said, wearily. "What was
that he said about paste, Mr. Gregory? You never saw any paste like
that, did you?
"No!" said Gregory, "I've heered of Di'mond Glue, but 'twan't nothin'
like stones--nor glass neither. You may run me through the calenders if
I know what he's drivin' at. But I'll trust him!" he added, vehemently. "I
done right to tell you to go to him. He's in one of his moods to-day, but
you'll hear from him, if there's anything to hear, now mark my words!

And now I'd go home, if I was you, and see your ma'am, and get your
dinner. And--Mary--I dono as I'd say anything about this, if I was you.
Things get round so in a mill, ye know."
Mary nodded assurance, and went home, trying to feel that nothing of
importance had happened. Do what she would, however, the golden
visions would come dancing before her eyes. Suppose--suppose the
stones should be real, after all! and suppose Mr. Gordon should give
her a part, at least, of the money they might bring in Boston. It
might--she knew diamonds were valuable--it might be thirty or forty
dollars. Oh! how rich she would be! The rent could be paid some time
in advance, and her mother could have the new shawl she needed so
badly: or would a cloak be better? cloaks were more in fashion, but
Mother said a good shawl was always good style.
Turning the corner by her mother's house, she met one of the clerks
who had been in the office when she went in there. He looked at her
with the smile she always disliked, she hardly knew why.
"You did the wrong thing that time, Miss Denison!" he said.
"What do you mean, Mr. Hitchcock?" asked Mary.
"You'll never see your diamonds again, nor the money for them!"
replied the man. "That's easy guessing. He'll come back and tell you
they're glass or paste, and that's the last you'll hear of them. And the
diamonds--for they are diamonds, right enough--will go into his pocket,
or on to his wife's neck. I know what's what! I wasn't born down in
these parts."
"You don't know Mr. Gordon!" said Mary, warmly. "That isn't the way
he is thought of by those who do know him."
The clerk was a newcomer from another State, and was not liked by the
mill-workers.
"I know his kind!" he said, with a sneer; "and they're no good to your
kind, Mary Denison, nor to mine. Mark my words, you'll hear no more

of that breastpin."
Mary turned away so decidedly that he said no more, but his eyes
followed her with a sinister look.
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