There was also a jeweller's shop in Coventry Street;
it sold second-hand silver--old Sheffield-plated candle-sticks,
cream ewers and sugar bowls; George III. silver tea-services, and
quaint-shaped wine strainers--they stood there in the window in
profusion. In themselves, for the daintiness of their design, or the
value of their antiquity, they did not interest her. She liked the
look of them glittering there; they conveyed a sense of the
embarrassment of riches which touched her ideas of romance. It was
the tray of old-fashioned ornaments, brooches in the design of flimsy
baskets of flowers, each flower represented by a different coloured
stone--old signet rings, old seals, quaint little figures of men and
beasts in silver, sometimes in gold; these were the things that
caught her fancy; she pored over them, choosing, every time she
passed, some fresh trinket that she would like to possess.
But on this evening in November she did not stop. At the
print-seller's in Garrick Street, she hesitated, but one glance over
her shoulder sped her onwards. The apprehension most prominent in
her mind was that if she continually looked behind her, the man might
fancy she was encouraging him.
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