"Ah—her jewelry!" Mrs. Bobby drew a long breath. "That is what she did with it, then," she remarked, involuntarily.
Bobby turned to her sharply. "You noticed, then," he said, "that she didn't have it?"
"Of course. There were her pearls, which she never wore last summer; the watch I gave her, too—I used to feel hurt that she never carried it, but I never suspected—Oh, what a fool I was—what a fool! And I who thought myself so clever in bringing about a match between her and Julian!" She stopped and suddenly burst into tears. "I made a nice failure of it all, didn't I?" she said. Then in a moment, her mood changed, and she turned upon Bobby indignantly. "Why didn't you tell me all this before?"
"I didn't want to tell you," said Bobby, slowly, "a moment sooner than was necessary. Personally, I don't see the use of having all this exploited—as a matter of fact, I'd pay a good deal to have it kept quiet; partly for your sake, and partly because—well, I like Elizabeth. She may not have behaved well, but I don't think she deserves to be made conspicuous in this way. I don't mind confessing that I've done what I could to arrest the zeal of the police, but I'm sorry to say, without success."
"You don't mean," she said incredulously, "that they refused money?"
"Well, the new District Attorney is very zealous," Bobby explained, "and, between ourselves, I think he wants the éclat of a sensational case. To put a young society woman in prison, against the efforts of all her friends, shows Roman stoicism,—or so he thinks."
"But you don't believe," said his wife, piteously, "you don't think it could come to that, Bobby?"
"To prison?" he said. "I don't know, Eleanor—upon my word I don't know." And he began again thoughtfully to pace up and down.
"What did Gerard say," he asked presently, "when he wrote to you before he sailed?"
"It was just a hurried note, hard to make out. He said the engagement was broken by her."