"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 should have done with a delicacy -- almost with a blush. Instead of that Ayala's name had been common on his tongue. Tom felt himself to be offended, but hardly knew why. And then, why had he been called Mister Tringle? The breakfast, which was eaten shortly afterwards in the company of three or four other men, was not eaten in comfort -- and then Tom hurried back to London and to Lombard Street.
After this failure Tom felt it to be impossible to go to another friend for assistance. There had been annoyance in describing his love to Colonel Stubbs, and pain in the treatment he had received. Even had there been another friend to whom he could have confided the task, he could not have brought himself to encounter the repetition of such treatment. He was as firmly fixed as ever in his conviction that he could not write the letter himself. And, as he thought of the words with which he should accompany a personal presentation of the necklace, he reflected that in all probability he might not be able to force his way into Ayala's presence. Then a happy thought struck him. Mrs Dosett was altogether on his side. Everybody was on his side except Ayala herself, and that pigheaded Colonel. Would it not be an excellent thing to entrust the necklace to the hands of his Aunt Dosett, in order that she might give it over to Ayala with all the eloquence in her power? Satisfied with this project he at once wrote a note to Mrs Dosett.
MY DEAR AUNT, I want to see you on most important business. If I shall not be troubling you, I will call upon you tomorrow at ten o'clock, before I go to my place of business.
Yours affectionately, T. TRINGLE, Junior On the following morning he apparelled himself with all his rings.
He was a good-hearted, well-intentioned young man, with excellent qualities; but he must have been slow of intellect when he had not as yet learnt the deleterious effect of all those rings.
On this occasion he put on his rings, his chains, and his bright waistcoat, and made himself a thing disgusting to be looked at by any well-trained female. As far as his aunt was concerned he would have been altogether indifferent as to his appearance, but there was present to his mind some small hope that he might be allowed to see Ayala, as the immediate result of the necklace.
Should he see Ayala, then how unfortunate it would be that he should present himself before the eyes of his mistress without those adornments which he did not doubt would be grateful to her. He had heard from Ayala's own lips that all things ought to be pretty. Therefore he endeavoured to make himself pretty.
Of course he failed -- as do all men who endeavour to make themselves pretty -- but it was out of the question that he should understand the cause of his failure.
"Aunt Dosett, I want you to do me a very great favour," he began, with a solemn voice.
"Are you going to a party, Tom?" she said.
