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The Amethyst Comb
by
When the train arrived, Miss Carew, followed by Margaret, stepped aboard with a majestic disregard of ankles. She sat beside a window, and Margaret placed the bag on the floor and held the jewel-case in her lap. The case contained the Carew jewels. They were not especially valuable, although they were rather numerous. There were cameos in brooches and heavy gold bracelets; corals which Miss Carew had not worn since her young girlhood. There were a set of garnets, some badly cut diamonds in ear-rings and rings, some seed-pearl ornaments, and a really beautiful set of amethysts. There were a necklace, two brooches — a bar and a circle — earrings, a ring, and a comb. Each piece was charming, set in filigree gold with seed-pearls, but perhaps of them all the comb was the best. It was a very large comb. There was one great amethyst in the center of the top; on either side was an intricate pattern of plums in small amethysts, and seed-pearl grapes, with leaves and stems of gold. Margaret in charge of the jewel-case was imposing. When they arrived in New York she confronted everybody whom she met with a stony stare, which was almost accusative and convictive of guilt, in spite of entire innocence on the part of the person stared at. It was inconceivable that any mortal would have dared lay violent hands upon that jewel-case under that stare. It would have seemed to partake of the nature of grand larceny from Providence.
When the two reached the up-town residence of Viola Longstreet, Viola gave a little scream at the sight of the case.
“My dear Jane Carew, here you are with Margaret carrying that jewel-case out in plain sight. How dare you do such a thing? I really wonder you have not been held up a dozen times.”
Miss Carew smiled her gentle but almost stern smile — the Carew smile, which consisted in a widening and slightly upward curving of tightly closed lips.
“I do not think,” said she, “that anybody would be apt to interfere with Margaret.”
Viola Longstreet laughed, the ringing peal of a child, although she was as old as Miss Carew. “I think you are right, Jane,” said she. “I don’t believe a crook in New York would dare face that maid of yours. He would as soon encounter Plymouth Rock. I am glad you have brought your delightful old jewels, although you never wear anything except those lovely old pearl sprays and dull diamonds.”
“Now,” stated Jane, with a little toss of pride, “I have Aunt Felicia’s amethysts.”
“Oh, sure enough! I remember you did write me last summer that she had died and you had the amethysts at last. She must have been very old.”
“Ninety-one.”
“She might have given you the amethysts before. You, of course, will wear them; and I — am going to borrow the corals!”
Jane Carew gasped.
“You do not object, do you, dear? I have a new dinner-gown which clamors for corals, and my bank account is strained, and I could buy none equal to those of yours, anyway.”
“Oh, I do not object,” said Jane Carew; still she looked aghast.
Viola Longstreet shrieked with laughter. “Oh, I know. You think the corals too young for me. You have not worn them since you left off dotted muslin. My dear, you insisted upon growing old — I insisted upon remaining young. I had two new dotted muslins last summer. As for corals, I would wear them in the face of an opposing army! Do not judge me by yourself, dear. You laid hold of Age and held him, although you had your complexion and your shape and hair. As for me, I had my complexion and kept it. I also had my hair and kept it. My shape has been a struggle, but it was worth while. I, my dear, have held Youth so tight that he has almost choked to death, but held him I have. You cannot deny it. Look at me, Jane Carew, and tell me if, judging by my looks, you can reasonably state that I have no longer the right to wear corals.”