"I thought the banker would say that," remarked the other lady, caressing the cat.
"And they both advised me to take my husband's opinion on the matter. My husband's opinion!" Her tone was bitter and tragic indeed. "I suppose they 're right," she said, flinging herself dejectedly into a chair. "I must tell Andrea everything. Oh, and he 'll forgive me!"
"Well, I should think it's rather nice being forgiven."
"Oh, no, not by Andrea!" The faintest smile flitted for an instant across her face. "Oh, no, Andrea does n't forgive like that. His forgiveness is very—well, horribly biblical, you know. Oh, I 'd better not have gone to Rome at all!"
"I never saw any good in your going to Rome, you know."
"Yes, I must tell him everything. Because Paul de Roustache is sure to come and—"
"He 's come already," observed the second lady, calmly.
"What? Come?"
The other lady set down the cat, rose to her feet, took out of her pocket a gold ring and a gold locket, walked over to her companion, and held them out to her. "These are yours, are n't they?" she inquired, and broke into a merry laugh. The sight brought nothing but an astonished stare and a breathless ejaculation—
"Lucia!"