"No, I suppose not," she said. "I can't imagine anybody hating you, Lydia. May I call you by your Christian name?"
"I wish you would," said Lydia warmly.
"I can't imagine anybody hating you," repeated the girl thoughtfully. "And, of course, Jack wouldn't hate you because you're his client—a very rich and attractive client too, my dear." She tapped the girl's cheek and Lydia, for some reason, felt foolish.
But as though unconscious of the embarrassment she had caused, Jean went on.
"I don't really blame him, either. I've a shrewd suspicion that all these warnings against me and against other possible enemies will furnish a very excellent excuse for seeing you every day and acting as your personal bodyguard!"
Lydia shook her head.
"That part of it he has relegated already," she said, giving smile for smile. "He has appointed Mr. Jaggs as my bodyguard."
"Mr. Jaggs?" The tone was even, the note of inquiry was not strained.
"He's an old gentleman in whom Mr. Glover is interested, an old army pensioner. Beyond the fact that he hasn't the use of his right arm, and limps with his left leg, and that he likes beer and cheese, he seems an admirable watch dog," said Lydia humorously.
"Jaggs?" repeated the girl. "I wonder where I've heard that name before. Is he a detective?"