Tom went up to London intent upon his diamonds. To tell the truth he had already made the purchase subject to some question of ready money. He now paid for it after considerable chaffering as to the odd pounds, which he succeeded in bringing to a successful termination. Then he carried the necklace away with him, revolving in his mind the different means of presentation. He thought that a letter might be best if only he was master of the language in which such a letter should properly be written. But he entirely doubted his own powers of composition. He was so modest in this respect that he would not even make an attempt. He knew himself well enough to be aware that he was in many respects ignorant. He would have endeavoured to take the necklace personally to Ayala had he not been conscious that he could not recommend his present with such romantic phrases and touches of poetry as would be gratifying to her fine sense. Were he to find himself in her presence with the necklace he must depend on himself for his words; but a letter might be sent in his own handwriting, the poetry and romance of which might be supplied by another.

Now it had happened that Tom had formed a marvellous friendship in Rome with Colonel Stubbs. They had been hunting together in the Campagna, and Tom had been enabled to accommodate the Colonel with the loan of a horse when his own had been injured. They had since met in London, and Stubbs had declared to more than one of his friends that Tom, in spite of his rings and his jewelry, was a very good fellow at bottom. Tom had been greatly flattered by the intimacy, and had lately been gratified by an invitation to Aldershot in order that the military glories of the camp might be shown to him. He had accepted the invitation, and a day in the present week had been fixed. Then it occurred to him suddenly that he knew no one so fitted to write such a letter as that demanded as his friend Colonel Jonathan Stubbs. He had an idea that the Colonel, in spite of his red hair and in spite of a certain aptitude for drollery which pervaded him, had a romantic side to his character; and he felt confident that, as to the use of language, the Colonel was very great indeed. He therefore, when he went to Aldershot, carefully put the bracelet in his breast pocket and determined to reveal his secret and to ask for aid.

The day of his arrival was devoted to the ordinary pursuits of Aldershot and the evening to festivities, which were prolonged too late into the night to enable him to carry out his purpose before he went to bed. He arranged to leave on the next morning by a train between ten and eleven, and was told that three or four men would come in to breakfast at half-past nine. His project then seemed to be all but hopeless. But at last with great courage he made an effort. “Colonel,” said he, just as they were going to bed, I wonder if you could give me half an hour before breakfast. It is a matter of great importance.” Tom, as he said this, assumed a most solemn face.

“An hour if you like, my dear boy. I am generally up soon after six, and am always out on horseback before breakfast as soon as the light serves.”

“Then if you’ll have me called at half past seven I shall be ever so much obliged to you.”

The next morning at eight the two were closeted together, and Tom immediately extracted the parcel from his pocket and opened the diamonds to view. “Upon my word that is a pretty little trinket,” said the Colonel, taking the necklace in his hand.

“Three hundred guineas!” said Tom, opening his eyes very wide.

“I daresay.”

“That is, it would have been three hundred guineas unless I had come down with the ready. I made the fellow give me twenty percent off. You should always remember this when you are buying jewelry.”

“And what is to be done with this pretty thing? I suppose it is intended for some fair lady’s neck.”

“Oh, of course.”

“And why has it been brought down to Aldershot? There are plenty of fellows about this place who will get their hands into your pocket if they know that you have such a trinket as that about you.”

“I will tell you why I brought it,” said Tom, very gravely. “It is, as you say, for a young lady. I intend to make that young lady my wife. Of course this is a secret, you know.”

“It shall be as sacred as the Pope’s toe,” said Stubbs.

“Don’t joke about it, Colonel, if you please. It’s life and death to me.”

“I’ll keep your secret and will not joke. Now what can I do for you?”

“I must send this as a present with a letter. I must first tell you that she has — well, refused me.”

“That never means much the first time, old boy.”

“She has refused me half a dozen times, but I mean to go on with it. If she refuses me two dozen times I’ll try her a third dozen.”

“Then you are quite in earnest?”

“I am. It’s a kind of thing I know that men laugh about, but I don’t mind telling you that I am downright in love with her. The governor approves of it.”

“She has got money, probably?”

“Not a shilling — not as much as would buy a pair of gloves. But I don’t love her a bit the less for that. As to income, the governor will stump up like a brick. Now I want you to write the letter.”

“It’s a kind of thing a third person can’t do,” said the Colonel, when he had considered the request for a moment.

“Why not? Yes, you can.”

“Do it yourself, and say just the simplest words as they come up. They are sure to go further with any girl than what another man may write. It is impossible that another man should be natural on such a task as that.”

“Natural! I don’t know about natural,” said Tom, who was anxious now to explain the character of the lady in question. “I don’t know that a letter that was particularly natural would please her. A touch of poetry and romance would go further than anything natural.”

“Who is the lady?” asked the Colonel, who certainly was by this time entitled to be so far inquisitive.

“She is my cousin — Ayala Dormer.”

“Who?”

“Ayala Dormer — my cousin. She was at Rome, but I do not think you ever saw her there.”

“I have seen her since,” said the Colonel.

“Have you? I didn’t know.”

“She was with my aunt, the Marchesa Baldoni.”

“Dear me! So she was. I never put the two things together. Don’t you admire her?”

“Certainly I do. My dear fellow, I can’t write this letter for you.” Then he put down the pen which he had taken up as though he had intended to comply with his friend’s request. “You may take it as settled that I cannot write it.”

“No?

“Impossible. One man should never write such a letter for another man. You had better give the thing in person — that is, if you mean to go on with the matter.”

“I shall certainly go on with it,” said Tom, stoutly.

“After a certain time, you know, reiterated offers do, you know — do — do — partake of the nature of persecution.”

“Reiterated refusals are the sort of persecution I don’t like.”

“It seems to me that Ayala — Miss Dormer, I mean — should be protected by a sort of feeling — feeling of — of what I may perhaps call her dependent position. She is peculiarly — peculiarly situated.”

“If she married me she would be much better situated. I could give her everything she wants.”

“It isn’t an affair of money, Mr Tringle.”

Tom felt, from the use of the word Mister, that he was in some way giving offence; but felt also that there was no true cause for offence. “When a man offers everything,” he said, and asks for nothing, I don’t think he should be said to persecute.”

“After a time it becomes persecution. I am sure Ayala would feel it so.”

“My cousin can’t suppose that I am ill-using her,” said Tom, who disliked the “Ayala” quite as much as he did the “Mister”.

“Miss Dormer, I meant. I can have nothing further to say about it. I can’t write the letter, and I should not imagine that Ayala — Miss Dormer — would be moved in the least by any present that could possibly be made to her. I must go out now, if you don’t mind, for half an hour; but I shall be back in time for breakfast.”

Then Tom was left alone with the necklace lying on the table before him. He knew that something was wrong with the Colonel, but could not in the least guess what it might be. He was quite aware that early in the interview the Colonel had encouraged him to persevere with the lady, and had then, suddenly, not only advised him to desist, but had told him in so many words that he was bound to desist out of consideration for the lady. And the Colonel had spoken of his cousin in a manner that was distasteful to him. He could not analyse his feelings. He did not exactly know why he was displeased, but he was displeased. The Colonel, when asked for his assistance, was, of course, bound to talk about the lady — would be compelled, by the nature of the confidence, to mention the lady’s name — would even have been called on to write her Christian name. But this he s............