She is all in black, but black that sparkles and trembles and shines with every movement.

She seems, indeed, to be hung in jet, and out of all this sombre gleaming her white neck rises, pure and fresh and sweet as a little child's.

Her long slight arms are devoid of gloves--she had forgotten them, do doubt, but her slender fingers are covered with rings, and round her neck a diamond necklace clings as if in love with its resting place.
Diamonds indeed are everywhere.

In her hair, in her breast, on her neck, her fingers.

Her father, when luck came to him, had found his greatest joy in decking with these gems the delight of his heart.
The professor turns to Hardinge.