"Oh, quite," Beverley murmured, sipping her coffee.
"I'm glad she made a good job. The rope looks as fine as if no accident had happened, I suppose?"
"It's a—wonderful rope," his wife managed to reply.
"I imagined you'd be wearing your gewgaws for breakfast this morning just to show they were all right!" Roger's eyes smiled coolly into hers. It was a cruel smile.
"A rope of pearls at breakfast—on a tailor gown of linen—and a queen's pearls at that! What bad taste! I shall wear these splendours only on the greatest occasions."
"Well, I've arranged a great occasion," said Roger. "That's principally what I want to talk about. I'd like you to send out invitations for a house party and a big dinner and dance directly after we're settled in the Newport cottage. And I'd like to move there sooner than we meant. I've decided to take a few weeks' holiday. We'll both be better out of the city."
"Oh, yes!" Beverley agreed.
"And I want you to do a thing to please me. Wear the queen's pearls—your pearls—on the night of the dinner and dance."