The
buyer laughed and looked down at the pool of light in his hand. "You
like it, of course you like it," he said to me. "Women always love
diamonds."
I said, "Yes. Why do you suppose?"
He
seemed as startled as if someone had suddenly asked him why people
breathe. "Why," he said after a pause, "it's because women love
beauty." He broke off, wrinkled his brow, then dismissed the whole
silly speculation. Mr. Bentinck patted his shoulder.
"Take your time," he said. "Just take your time. All the time in the world."
The
buyer went back, onto his chair and into the stone. We moved off along
the row of stone-gazers. It felt strange to be in a crowd so completely
absorbed in what they were doing. As we walked Mr. Bentinck made
comments on them, no longer troubling to keep his voice particularly
low. It was quite clear that nobody was paying any attention to us; it
would take a genuine physical shove to move them from their
contemplations.
"Over
there's a man from Holland," said Mr. Bentinck, indicating a bowed
back. "He's got a big place there; I've been to see it. That man on the
other side of the window is another one from the States. He's just a
young fellow; doesn't know everything about the trade as yet, but he's
learning. He works at it. I like to see a young fellow who's keen to
learn. Let's find out how he's getting on."
The
young fellow appeared to be making every opportunity that his
apprenticeship offered, for he was just as motionless, just as sunk in
rapt scrutiny, as any veteran diamond observer. He held a stone before
his loupe that was not quite as spec-
