"What was it about your necklace?"
She had created an effect. Madame Beattie herself gasped.
"For God's sake, child," said she, "what do you know about my necklace?"
"I don't know anything," said Lydia. "And I want to know everything that will help Jeff."
She broke down here, and cried bitterly. Madame Beattie lay there looking at her, at first with sharp eyes narrowed, as if she rather doubted whose emissary Lydia might be. Then her face settled into an astonished yet astute calm and wariness.
"You'll have to sit down," said she. "It's a long story." So Lydia sank upon the zone left by the corset and stockings. "Who's been talking to you?" asked Madame Beattie: but Lydia looked at her and dumbly shook her head. "Jeff?"
"No. Oh, no!"
"Farvie? Not a word."
Madame Beattie considered.