Her heart still fought for him. "But my necklace was worth only twenty-five thousand. And a thief would never be able to realise the full value of it."
I shrugged. Naturally I did not care to add to her unhappiness by telling her that the pearls were worth half a million. She thought from my shrug that I meant to convey that if her lover had been guilty of one theft why not others?
It crushed her anew. She had no more fight left in her. She sank back dead white and bereft of motion. "He's coming here," she whispered. "What shall I say to him? What shall I say?"
"Don't see him," I cried.
"I must. I promised."
I sat there, I don't know for how long, staring at the carpet like a clown.
The telephone rang and we both jumped as at a pistol shot.
I offered to answer it, but she waved me back. She went to the instrument falteringly—but I was surprised at the steadiness of her voice. "What is it?" she asked.
"Let him come up," she said firmly. By her stricken white face I knew who it was.
I jumped up in a kind of panic. "I will have myself carried up to the roof garden so I won't meet him," I said.