The Coast of Chance
"But does no one know anything? Has no one an idea?" Clara almost panted in her impatience.
"Not the ghost of a glimmer of a clue. There were upward of two hundred of us, and they let us out like a chain-gang, one by one. My number was one hundred and ninety-three, and so far I can vouch there were no discoveries. It has vanished--sunk out of sight."
Flora sighed. "Oh, poor Bessie Chatworth!" It came out with a quick inconsequence that made Clara--even in her impatience--ever so faintly smile. "It seems so cruel to have your things taken like that when you're dead, and can't help it," Flora rather lamely explained. "I should hate it."
Harry stared at her. "Oh, come. I guess you wouldn't care." His eyes rested for a moment on the fine flare of jewels presented by Flora's clasped hands. "Besides,"--his voice dropped to a graver level--"the deuce of it is-