Rhoda turned towards her with sudden fierceness.
“You know very well what it is,” she said.
For a moment the spoilt beauty was taken aback. The colour faded out of her lips and cheeks as she sat back in silence. Rhoda looked at her steadily:
“You know what this parcel is, and you know how I got it,” she went on.
Lady Sarah recovered herself.
“Really I don’t understand you,” she said coldly. “I haven’t the least idea what it is you are carrying.”
“Yes, you have, you know it’s the picture, the Romney, which was stolen from the gallery. And more than that, you know who it was that stole it,” cried Rhoda defiantly.
Lady Sarah drew a long breath. She was frightened, in spite of her aplomb, and for the moment she did not know how to meet this direct attack.
Rhoda burst into tears.
“Oh, Lady Sarah, what is the use of pretending? You know all about it, and as I know it too, what is the use of acting? It’s a dreadful thing, a terrible thing, and it’s very hard that I should be dragged into it, that I should have had to be obliged to do what I did to get it back. No, don’t look as if you didn’t know all about that too. Mr. Rotherfield told you, I’m sure, before he went away.”