THE GOLDEN BOWL
at all events, already devoted the crystal cup to the beautiful purpose so kindly and so fortunately named to him. It wasn't a thing for a present to a person she was fond of, for she wouldn't wish to give a present that would bring ill luck. That had come to him—so that he couldn't rest, and he should feel better now that he had told her. His having led her to act in ignorance was what he should have been ashamed of; and if she would pardon, gracious lady as she was, all the liberties he had taken, she might make of the bowl any use in life but that one.
It was after this that the most extraordinary incident of all of course had occurred—his pointing to the two photographs with the remark that those were persons he knew, and that, more wonderful still, he had made acquaintance with them years before precisely over the same article. The lady, on that occasion, had taken up the fancy of presenting it to the gentleman, and the gentleman, guessing and dodging ever so cleverly, had declared that he wouldn't for the world receive an object under such suspicion. He himself, the little man had confessed, wouldn't have minded—about them; but he had never forgotten either their talk or their faces, the impression altogether made by them, and, if she really wished to know now what had perhaps most moved him, it was the thought that she should ignorantly have gone in for a thing not good enough for other buyers. He had been immensely struck—that was another point—with this accident of their turning out after so long friends of hers too: they had disappeared, and this was the only light he had ever had upon them. He had
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