“I don’t think I can. I don’t think I ought. I mean,” said be, in a more apologetic tone—“I mean, it is not my secret. It is another’s—that is, if my guess be the right one.”
“And you have the courage to heighten my eagerness by all this preamble! Why, my dear Mr. Grrenfell, they told me, that of all the men about town, none knew women as you did!”
“Who told you that?” asked he, eagerly.
“Scores of people.” And she quoted at random the most distinguished names of her acquaintance, every syllable of their high-sounding titles falling on Grenfell’s ear with a cadence perfectly enthralling. “Come, now,” said she, with a look of entreaty, “don’t worry me any longer. You see I know more than one half of the secret, if it be a secret, already; from whom it comes, and to whom it is addressed.”
“I am in your hands,” said he, in a tone of submission. “Come out into the garden, and I’ll tell you all I know.”
Georgina accepted his arm as he spoke, and they passed out into a shady alley that led down to the sea.
“If I be right,” said he, “and I’d go the length of a wager that I am, the packet you saw on the breakfast-table contains one of the most costly ornaments a woman ever wore. It was a royal present on the wedding-day of Sir Within Wardles mother, and sent by him to fulfil the same office to Miss Luttrell on becoming Mrs. Ladarelle.”
“You know this!” said she, in a slow, collected tone.
“I know it because he sent me to his gem-room at Dalradern to fetch it. He opened the casket in my presence, he showed me the jewels, he explained to me the peculiar setting. Emeralds on one side, opals on the other, so as to present two distinct suites of ornaments. I remember his words, and how his lips trembled as he said, ‘Ladies in these times were wont to turn their necklaces, now they only change their affections!’ You’d scarcely believe it, Miss Conrtenay, but it is fact, positive fact, the poor old man had been in love with her.”
“I certainly cannot stretch my credulity to that extent, Mr. Grenfell,” said she, with a shade of vexation in her voice, “though I could readily believe how an artful, unprincipled girl, with a field all her own, could manage to ensnare a most gentle, confiding nature into a degree of interest for her, that she would speedily assume to be a more tender feeling. And was the casket sent to her, Mr. Grenfell?” asked she, in a suddenly altered tone.