“Don’t say they’re stolen, Jeffers!” she cried out. “Don’t tell me that! Lord Castlecourt would never forgive me. He’ll never forgive me! They’re worth thousands and thousands of pounds! They can’t have been stolen!”
She spoke so loud they heard her in the next room, and Lord Castlecourt came in. He was a tall gentleman, a little bald, and I can see him now in his black clothes, with the white of his shirt bosom gleaming, standing in the doorway looking at her. He had a surprised expression on his face, and was frowning a little; for he hated anything like loud talking or a scene.
“What’s the matter, Gladys?” he said. “You’re making such a noise I heard you in my room. Is there a fire?”
She made a sort of grasp at the case, and tried to hide it. Chawlmers was in the doorway behind my lord, and I saw him staring at her and trying not to. He told me afterward she was as white as paper.
“The diamonds,” she faltered out—“your diamonds—your family’s—your mother’s.”
Lord Castlecourt gave a start, and seemed to stiffen. He did not move from where he was, but stood rigid, looking at her.
“What’s the matter with them?” he said, quick and quiet, but not as if he was calm.
She threw the case she had been trying to hide on the dressing-table. It knocked over some bottles, and lay there open and empty. My lord sprang at it, took it up, and shook it.
“Gone?” he said, turning to my lady. “Stolen, do you mean?”
“Yes—yes—yes,” she said, like that—three times; and then she fell back in the chair and put her hands over her face.