He had made sport of her, but only
for his own entertainment -- never for the entertain-
ment of others. He was a beautiful creature, seeking
out paths of pleasure and folly for himself alone,
which ended as do all paths of earthly pleasure and
folly. Harold had admired Viola, but from the same
point of view as Jane Carew's. Viola had, when she
looked her youngest and best, always seemed so
old as to be venerable to him. He had at times
compunctions, as if he were making a jest of his
grandmother. Viola never knew the truth about the
amethyst comb. He had considered that one of the
best frolics of his life. He had simply purloined it
and presented it to Viola, and merrily left matters
to settle themselves.
Viola and Jane had lived together a month before
the comb was mentioned. Then one day Viola was
in Jane's room and the jewel-case was out, and she
began examining its contents. When she found the
amethyst comb she gave a little cry. Jane, who had
been seated at her desk and had not seen what was
going on, turned around.
Viola stood holding the comb, and her cheeks
were burning. She fondled the trinket as if it had
been a baby. Jane watched her. She began to
understand the bare facts of the mystery of the dis-
appearance of her amethyst comb, but the subtlety
of it was forever beyond her.
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