“Not at all,” said George very quietly. “I should have had them off long ago if I had wanted to. Who gave them to you?”
She noticed the increasing sternness of his tone and answered with a sudden quick change to childish fright.
“I had them all the time. Mamma sent them to me weeks ago, by Mr. Angelo,” she added with a rapid inspiration.
Without any sign or word which seemed to her significant enough for a warning, George’s self-restraint gave way, and grasping her shoulders so firmly in his hands that she could not move to right or left, he forced her to meet his eyes, now flaming with anger, with her own.
“Tell me the truth,” he said in a tone she had never heard him use before.
“I dare not, I dare not,” she whispered in terrible, exaggerated fear that took all colour from her face and lips and made her dark skin an ugly ashy grey.
He relaxed his clasp at once, remorseful and ashamed; but his voice was no softer than before. “Who gave you those jewels? Was it Rahas?”
She looked up rapidly, with a convincing ray of relief in her eyes. “Oh, no, no, no. It was mamma, mamma, mamma. They were her wedding present to me.”
George put his hand up to his forehead, and found that it was wet. A great dread had gone from his mind, yet he remained much puzzled.
“Then why couldn’t you tell me so at once?” he asked doubtfully.