"Is a beauty success going to content you, Olden?"

"Well, we'll wait and see," I drawled back at him in his own
throaty bass.

Oh, I was drunk, Mag, drunk with thinking about that diamond!
I didn't care even to please Obermuller. I just wanted the feel of
that diamond in my hand. I wanted it lying on my own neck--the
lovely, cool, shining, rosy thing. It's like the sunrise, Mag,
that beauty stone. It's just a tiny pool of water blushing.
It's--

How to get it! How to get away with it! On what we'd get for that
diamond, Tom and I--when his time is up--could live for all our
lives and whoop it up besides. We could live in Paris, where
great grafters live and grafting pays--where, if you've got wit
and fifty thousand dollars, and happen to be a "darn sight
prettier," you can just spin the world around your little
finger!

But, do you know, even then I couldn't bear to think of selling
the pretty thing? It hurt me to think of anybody having it but
just Nance Olden.

But I hadn't got it yet.

Gray has a dressing-room to herself. And on her table--which is a
big box, open end down--just where the three-sided big mirror can
multiply the jewels and make you want 'em three times as bad, her