THE BRASS BOWL
to that, however. He, Maitland, was well rid of the whole damnable business. … Yes, jewels and all!
What were the jewels to him? … Beyond their sentimental associations, he did not hold them greatly in prize. Of course, since they had been worn by his mother, he would spare no expense or effort to trace and re-collect them, for that dim sainted memory's sake. But in this case, at least, the traditional usage of the Maitland's would never be carried out. It had been faithfully observed when, after his mother's death, the stones had been removed from their settings and stored away; but now they would never be reset, even should he contrive to reassemble them, to adorn the bride of the Maitland heir. For he would never marry. Of course not. …
Maitland was young enough to believe, and to extract a melancholy satisfaction from this.
Puzzled and saddened, his mind harked back for ever to that carking question: Why had she returned? What had brought her back to the flat?
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