“There is such a strange case in the papers this morning,” she said, addressing John Temple; “an actress, Kathleen Weir, has had her diamonds stolen in a most extraordinary manner.”
John Temple was in the act of helping himself to some toast from the toast-rack as Mrs. Temple made the remark, and for a moment his hand remained suspended, and a dusky wave of color rose to his face.
“Do you know her?” asked Mrs. Temple, quickly, instantly noticing these signs of agitation.
“No,” answered John Temple, a little huskily, and then he took the toast, but left it untasted on his plate.
“Have they recovered the diamonds then?” asked the squire.
“No, I suppose not; her maid had taken them and substituted false ones in the same settings. But here is the account; you had better read it.” And Mrs. Temple handed the newspaper to her husband.
John Temple said nothing; he began slowly eating his breakfast, but apparently without appetite, and then he opened another newspaper and turned to the column containing the trial of Margaret Johnstone for diamond stealing.
“So,” he said, a little scornfully, after he had read it, “this young lady, Miss Kathleen Weir, seemingly was tired of some of her diamonds, and wished to dispose of them?”
“Perhaps she was tired of the man who gave them to her?” replied Mrs. Temple.
“Very likely,” said John, with a little shrug of his shoulders; “of the poor fool who perhaps impoverished himself to give her gauds.”