"Mother!" exclaimed Salome, "Stevens! How can you say so?"
"What am I to say or think, Salome? The necklet is old-fashioned, but it is very valuable. They are fine emeralds, and, I daresay, worth sixty or seventy pounds. I was very foolish to keep it here; I ought to have sent it to your Uncle Loftus to put in his plate-chest, or to the bank. Salome, have you nothing to advise or to say? Shall I question Stevens?"
Salome was taking the daffodils one by one from the basket, and did not speak for a moment.
"No, mother; do not question anybody yet; let us wait. It is so dreadful to suspect innocent people. Are you quite sure the necklet was in that large dressing-case? Have you looked through the little one?"
"Yes, over and over again. I know I am not mistaken. I was thinking of a ring which belonged to an uncle of mine which I do not value; and I thought if I sold it I might get a few pounds for the boys. Reginald would like to go to Westmoreland this Easter, and it is so hard to have no spare money. Raymond, too, wants five pounds,—so much, though I fear he is very extravagant."
Salome started as her mother was speaking, for Raymond came in. It was Thursday, the day for the early closing of the offices in Harstone, and Mrs. Wilton said,—
"This has been a lovely afternoon. Where have you been?"
"I came in here about three o'clock and found everybody out, so I went off again. I thought you might have liked a drive, mother, and I could have hired a little trap for a trifle. Where had you flown to?"
"Only to the vicarage. How kind of you to think of me. Look at Salome's daffodils! But I have had a most unpleasant loss, Raymond,—do not mention it to the little ones or to Reginald. I have missed something of value out of my large jewel-box—that old gold necklet set with emeralds."