Lydia hated him too much to accept even a knowledge of his name.
"He was a promoter, just as Jeffrey was," she insisted, with her pretty sulkiness. "He was the one that went West and looked after the mines. And if there was nothing in them, he knew it. But he let Jeffrey go on trying to—to place the shares—and when Jeffrey went under he was safely out of the way. And he's guilty."
Miss Amabel looked at her thoughtfully and patiently.
"I'm afraid he isn't guilty in any sense the law would recognise," she said. "You see, dear, there are things the law doesn't take into account. It can't. You believe in Jeffrey. So do I. But I think you'll have to realise Jeffrey lost his head. And he did do wrong."
"Oh, how can you say a thing like that?" cried Lydia, in high passion. "And you've known him all your life."
Miss Amabel was not astute. Her nobility made it a condition of her mind to be unsuspecting. She knew the hidden causes of Jeffrey's downfall. She was sure his father knew, and it never seemed to her that these two sisters were less than sisters to him. What she herself knew, they too must have learned; out of this believing candour she spoke.
"You mustn't forget there was the necklace, and Madame Beattie expecting to be paid."
Lydia was breathless in her extremity of surprise.
"What necklace?" asked she.
"Don't you know?"