The histo'T of this little ornament possesses enough



CURTAIN MAZK 3I

irony to warrant a short digression. It used to hang in
the window of a Midland toy-shop, and had made a
pretty birthday gift from a young man deep in love to his
betrothed. She wore it in her kerchief for ten years and
sent it at last to her lover in London with some other
trinkets not very valuable, but all of the same fresh
beauty. At the bottom of the packet was a faded sprig
of whitethorn. The young gentleman — not quite so
young now — opened it as a London dawn empearled
the city smoke. It had lain all day in his room neglected
while the dice-box rattled like a skeleton at the feast of
Love — a feast of pimps and blowsy carmine furies.
The contents of the packet went with the last of his
guineas, and at the division of the stake Mr. Vernon
contemptuously accepted the brooch. The latter never
troubled himself to take the ornament out of his pocket.
Now once more it came back to Youth and Beauty.
As she pinned it to her kerchief, Phyllida thanked him
for his sweet thoughtfulness, and wondered if he would
always remember this morning.
By this time, Vernon had clambered down from his
mountain top. Perhaps the brooch made his descent
more easy. Yet I think he was sincere when he swore he
would never forget.
Anyway Phyllida believed him and so there is nothing
more to be said.
