"The best person to see these, as you suggested, Aneta," said Mrs. Ward, "is Sir Charles Lysle. They are really no good to Maggie, but ought to be sold for their utmost value for her benefit. She has many fine points, and considerable strength of character; and if you take her up, dear, I feel certain that she will be saved from all those things which would ruin a nature like hers."
"I mean to take her up," said Aneta with spirit.
"Well," said Mrs. Ward, "the first thing to do is to get to-morrow over. I have no doubt it will be a success. Meanwhile, will you write a line to your uncle, Sir Charles, and ask him if he can call here to see these treasures?"
"Yes, I will write to him at once," said Aneta. "He spends most of his time at the British Museum. Couldn't I send him a wire, Mrs. Ward, and then he would come to-night?"
"Yes, that is a very good idea. Do so, my love."
The girls had a very spirited rehearsal, and Maggie was her old vivacious, daring, clever self once more. That inward change which no doubt had taken place brought an added charm to her always expressive face.
Between seven and eight that evening Aneta's uncle, Sir Charles, arrived. He and Mrs. Ward had a long consultation. His opinion was that the bracelets and other curios were worth at least seven thousand pounds, and that such a sum could easily be obtained for them.
"In fact, I myself would buy them for that figure," said Sir Charles. "It is not only that there are in this collection some unique and valuable stones; but the history, the setting, and the make of these ancient relics would induce the British Museum to buy many of them. Doubtless, however, Miss Howland will get the biggest price of all for them if they are auctioned at Christie's."
Before she went to bed that night Aneta told Maggie that she was by no means a penniless girl, and that if she would consent to having her father's treasures sold she would have sufficient money to be well educated, and have a nice nest-egg in the future to start in any profession she fancied.
"Oh Aneta, it is all too wonderful!" said poor Maggie--"to think of me as I am to-night, and of me as I felt last night when I wanted to lose myself in the London fog. Aneta, I can never love you enough!"