"Ah, well," she said, "since you are here——"
She was looking absently away from him into an antique, silver basket which lay on the little table by her side, in which were miscellaneous trifles, odd pieces of lace, thimbles which she never used, a broken fan, a box of chocolates.
"Mary, my dear," she said quickly, "I am so stupid! The old bonbonnière, with the brilliants? I must have left it on my dressing-table, or somewhere. That new housemaid—we really know nothing about her—it would be such a temptation. Would you mind——"
"Is this——" Rainham began, and stopped short.
Lady Garnett's brilliant eyes, and a little admonitory gesture of one hand, restrained him. When the girl had shut the door behind her, the elder lady turned to him with a quaint smile.
"Is that it? Of course it is, my friend. You are singularly obtuse: a woman would have seen through me at once."
"I beg your pardon," said Rainham, somewhat mystified. "You mean it was a pretext?"
"It was for you that I made it," she replied with dignity. "What was it you came to say?"
The other was silent for a moment, cogitating. When he looked up at last, meeting her eyes, it was with something like a shiver, in a tone of genuine dismay, that he remarked:
"Dear lady, there are times when you terrify me. You see too much.
It is not—no, it is not human. I had meant to tell you nothing."