“No, no,” she said. “Don’t tell him more lies. You may give back the picture yourself, if you like, but on condition that you tell the truth, that you confess who it was that stole it, and say that he, Mr. Rotherfield, has given it back and begs forgiveness. It will be a shock to him, of course, to find who it was that did it, but at any rate it is better that he should be shocked than that he should be further deceived.”
Lady Sarah, however, shook her head.
“He would never forgive him. I couldn’t tell him that. Unless,” her face brightened, as a fresh idea struck her, “I might perhaps be able to persuade him that it was a rough practical joke! I might take the blame of that upon myself.”
“Yes, yes. Sir Robert would forgive you anything, anything,” urged Rhoda.
Already Lady Sarah had sprung up from her knees and seized the rolled-up picture.
“I’ll go at once,” said she, “and make him happy.”
But Rhoda was not satisfied. Misgivings had seized her the moment she saw the lady’s quick recovery from her depression. She was troubled, also, as to the extent to which she could rely upon her keeping her word.
“Lady Sarah,” she urged in a trembling voice, “remember this is not the only thing that has to be given back. The snuff-boxes——”
But the spoilt beauty was already at the door. Looking back over her shoulder, and laughing mischievously, she said, quite in her old, buoyant, happy manner:
“Snuff-boxes! Oh, dear, I know nothing about those! If he suspects, he’ll have to make his own discoveries. One surprise is enough for him at a time!”