“Hello, Mandy!” she greeted him.
“Afternoon, Elaine,” he vouchsafed.
“Golly, such a row!” said she.
“Who? Sheila and Lucian?” he asked, not much interested.
“No—Aunt Sheila and mother and that poor little French girl—”
“What?”
“Yes!” said Elaine. “They’ve been looking for a chance to destroy her ever since you danced with her. We’ve all been pretty beastly. I’m sorry. I don’t believe she ever stole—”
“She—stole?”
“That’s the tale—that she stole Aunt Sheila’s bracelet—the one you gave her two years ago on her fifth anniversary.”
“She?” cried Mandeville. His healthy face grew pale. His eyes narrowed. “That’s a damned lie!” he said.