"Raymond, I believe you have taken my necklet out of mother's large dressing-case! Why did you do so by stealth and like a thief?"
"Come now, Salome—no insults. How dare you speak like that?"
"Raymond," the brave girl went on, "I am certain you took the necklet; and you must tell mother to-morrow morning, and not allow innocent people to be accused. What have you done with the money? Have you paid Mr. Percival? Raymond, I mean to be answered, and I shall wait here till you speak."
"You may wait all night, then; and"—putting on a great Inverness cape over his coat and seating himself coolly in a chair—"you will find it very cold here in this horrid little room."
"I shall go to Uncle Loftus early to-morrow morning and tell him everything from first to last. I have been wrong to conceal it all this time, and I mean now to tell Uncle Loftus everything. If father were alive, he would be told; and Uncle Loftus is our guardian, and has been very kind to you."
"Kind! nonsense," Raymond said. "I don't see his kindness."
"Well, Raymond, I shall tell him everything to-morrow—about your debts, and all the trouble you have caused, and—"
"That I stole your necklet, and made a fortune by it. Just like you, to jump at conclusions."
This was grateful, after all that she had done for him. But natures like Raymond's are almost incapable of gratitude.
"Where is my necklet? tell me that, Raymond."