She nodded and went slowly upstairs, like a person in a trance.
She seemed hardly aware of Evans waiting to undress her, but stood still in her bedroom, as she had stood in the hall, staring blankly in front of her. Evans took her cloak from her shoulder.
"It's quite wet, Miss," she said, "as if it had been dipped in the sea and your hair, too."
Miss Thorne did not come to life, until in unhooking her dress Evans touched her with cold fingers. Then she started, exclaiming:
"What is the matter with you, Evans," she cried. "Do go and put your hands in hot water before you touch me. Your fingers are like ice."
The girl murmured that she had been upset since the loss of the bracelet—she felt responsible for Miss Thorne's jewels.
Lydia flung down the roll of bills and cheques that represented her evening's winnings. "I could buy myself another with what I've won to-night. Don't worry about it." The idea occurred to her that she would buy herself a sort of memento mori, something to remind her not to be a weak craven female thing again—nestling against men's shoulders like May Swayne.
Evans did not answer, but gathered up the money and the jewels and carried them into the dressing room to lock them in the safe.