“And he may arrive at any moment, I daresay!” Nell exclaimed. “George, if he should do so before this person who is now with his lordship has gone away, show him into the saloon, if you please, and desire him to wait! And—inform his lordship that I wish to see him before he goes to Sir John!”

“Yes, my lady: never fear!” said George, in a reassuring tone that gave her clearly to understand that he had by this time realized that there was something unusual afoot. “Ill tip the—I’ll drop a word in Farley’s ear, my lady!”

She thanked him, flushing a little, and retreated again to the drawing-room, there to pass another miserable half-hour, wondering how much longer the obtrusive Mr. Catworth meant to linger, and why providence, so falsely called merciful, had not seen fit to remove her from the world when, at the age of five, she had contracted scarlet fever. And yet, when, looking down from the window, she saw a neat individual descending the front steps, and knew that Cardross was at last at liberty, she at once wished that she might be granted just a few more minutes in which to recruit her forces.

But if the dreaded interview were not to be postponed until the morrow there was all too little time left to her; so she went quickly downstairs before a craven panic could wholly master her.

George, his foot on the bottom stair, drew back, saying that he had been on the point of coming to tell her that his lordship was now alone, and ready to receive her. He went before her to hold open the door into the library. He would have liked to have said something encouraging to her, because she looked so young and so scared, and put him in mind of his daughter, but that, of course, was impossible. It was as plain as a pikestaff she was in trouble, poor little thing: it was to be hoped his lordship would let her down easy, but he wasn’t looking any too amiable.

He was looking very far from amiable. The instant she had crossed the threshold Nell knew that she had chosen her moment badly. He was standing beside his desk, his countenance very set, and he neither smiled nor moved forward to meet her. She had never before seen so somber an expression in his eyes; her own eyes dilated a little in sudden alarm; she said involuntarily: “Oh, what is it?”

It was a moment or two before he spoke, and then he said in a very level tone: “I understand you particularly wish to speak to me. I am expecting a visit from Somerby, however, so unless the matter is of immediate importance it would be better, perhaps, if this interview were postponed until the morning.”

The cold formality of this speech struck her to the heart; she was only just able to say: “It is of—most immediate importance! I must, I must tell you at once!”

“Very well. What is it?”

It was not encouraging, but she could not draw back. She said: “The necklace—the Cardross necklace! It has gone!”

She thought he stiffened, but he did not speak. Frightened and perplexed, she stammered: “You don’t—I think you cannot have understood me!”

“Oh, yes! I understood you!” he said grimly.

“Cardross, pray—! You are very angry—shocked—”

“Both! Too much to discuss it with you now! I will see you in the morning. I may be able to speak to you then with more moderation than is yet at my command!”

“Oh, say what you wish to me, but don’t look at me so!” she begged. “Indeed, indeed I didn’t lose it through any carelessness! It has been stolen, Cardross!”

“I didn’t suppose that you had mislaid it. Are you suggesting that some thief contrived to enter the house without anyone’s being aware of it, or do you mean to accuse one of the servants?”

“I don’t know, but I am dreadfully afraid it must have been one of the servants!” she said worriedly. “They could have searched for it, but a stranger would not have known where to look, or—surely?—have thought it necessary to make it seem as though no one had been to my rooms, or stolen anything. I—I had no suspicion, you see! It might have been months before I discovered the loss, for it was hidden amongst the clothes Sutton put away in camphor.”

“And how does it come about that you have discovered it?” he asked. “That is puzzling me a trifle, you know.”

“I didn’t—it wasn’t I who discovered it! Sutton found the case empty when she went to look over my winter clothes.”

“I see. How very disconcerting, to be sure!”

There was a derisive note in his voice, which made her stare at him in bewilderment. “Disconcerting?” she repeated. “Good God, it was far, far more than that, Cardross!”

“I am sure you were excessively shocked. I collect that Sutton did not make this unwelcome discovery until today?”

She did not answer him immediately. She had known that full confession would be difficult, but not that he would make it as difficult as this. She had to overcome an impulse to acquiesce, for it now seemed beyond her power to tell the whole of her tangled tale to this stranger who watched her with such merciless eyes, and spoke to her in so biting a tone. But the inward struggle lasted only for a minute. She drew a shuddering breath, and said faintly: “No. I—I have known—since Tuesday. I must explain to you—try to explain to you—why I haven’t told you—until today.”

“For God’s sake, no! At least let me be spared that!”

She was startled, for the words had burst from him with savage violence. Her eyes leaped to his, and she recoiled instinctively from the blaze of anger she saw there. “Cardross—!”

“Be silent!” He flung round towards his desk, and wrenched open one of its drawers. “You need explain nothing to me—as you perceive!”

She stood staring in utter amazement, almost unable to believe her eyes, for what he had taken from the drawer and tossed contemptuously on to the desk was the Cardross necklace.

From a whirl of conjecture nothing coherent emerged; she was so much at a loss that she could only gasp: “You have it!”

“Yes, Madam Wife, I have it!” he replied.

Relief swept over her. “Oh, how thankful I am!” she cried. “But how—why—I don’t understand!”

“Don’t you? Then I will tell you!” he said harshly. “It was brought to me not an hour ago by an astute little jeweller whose son—neither as astute, nor, I fancy, as honest as himself!—had bought it, yesterday, for the sum of two thousand pounds! I imagine he must have blessed himself for his good fortune: it cannot be every day that such easy clients present themselves! He would be obliged to cut the necklace up, of course, but even so it is worth a trifle more than two thousand, you know. No, you don’t know, do you?”

She hardly heard the bitter, jeering note in his voice, or grasped the implication of his words. She was staring at him with knit brows, rather pale, and with her breath coming short and light. “Yesterday,” she repeated. “Yesterday? Who—Did he tell you—who?”

His lips curled disdainfully. “No, he didn’t tell me that. His very fair client—understandably, one feels!—was heavily veiled.” He caught the tiny sigh of relief that escaped her. “Nor am I quite such a flat as to have wished for further information on that head!” he said, the savagery again rampant in his voice. “A lady—unquestionably a lady! A young lady, dressed in the first stare of fashion, who would not disclose her name—how should she, indeed?—or accept a banker’s draft in payment! Do you suppose, when I had been told that, that I catechized Catworth?”

“Catworth?” she said quickly. “The man who came to see you—came twice to see you—has just been with you?”

“Exactly so! If only you had known!—Is that what you are thinking, my sweet love? How should you have known? It was not he who bought the Cardross necklace for a song! You met the son—quite a knowing one, in his way, I should suppose, but by no means as downy as the father! If my newfound acquaintance is to be believed, he had never seen or heard of the Cardross necklace. Well; it may be so! I am much in debt to the father, and should be reluctant to disbelieve him. After all, I have never dealt with a Cranbourn Alley jeweller. Perhaps young Catworth is not fly, but green! It is otherwise with the elder Catworth. He recognized the necklace the instant it was shown him, and saw his duty clear before him! I must always regret that I was not just in the humour to enjoy the scene as it deserved to be enjoyed! So discreet, he was! so virtuous! Not an ungentlemanly word spoken throughout! He did not even permit himself to hope for my future patronage, and he accepted without a blink every whisker that I uttered! An admirable man—I must certainly place a little business in his way! How very shabby it would be if I did not!”

He paused, but she did not speak, or move. There was a queer, blank look in her eyes: had he but known it, she was less concerned with the injustice of what he had said than with the realization of what must be the true story.

He picked up the necklace, and put it back in the drawer. Turning the key in the lock, and removing it, he said sardonically: “You will forgive me, I trust, if henceforward I keep it in my own charge! I am persuaded you must, for you have never admired it, or wished to wear it, have you? You should have discovered its worth, however, before you set out to dispose of it. I cannot have my wife so easily gulled, Lady Cardross!”

At that, she blinked, and half lifted one hand in a beseeching gesture. “Ah, no! Giles, Giles!”

It did not move him. “Oh, don’t waste your cajolery on me, my pretty one! You will catch cold at that now! I was a bigger flat than you, but, believe me, the game is up! You hoaxed me wonderfully: bowled me out with that sweet face and those innocent ways! I thought I was up to every move on the board, but when I saw you—when you put your hand in mine, and looked up at me, and smiled—” He broke off, and seemed to make an effort to master the rage that was consuming him. “You must pardon me! I had not meant to open my lips on this subject until I had had time to recover, in some sort, from the chagrin of having every suspicion, forced on me during the few months of our marriage, confirmed! Well! I have come by my deserts! I should have known better than to have been taken in by that lovely face of yours, or to have believed that under your charming manners you had a heart to be won! To be sure, you never gave me reason to think it, did you? How unjust of me to blame you for that! I will engage not to do so again, but must try to fulfill better my side of the bargain. It has been brought home to me how lamentably short of expectation I have fallen, but that can be mended, and shall be. Tell me, my sweet life, at what figure do you set your beauty, your dutiful submission, your admirable discretion, and your unfailing politeness?”