"Indeed, Mabel?" replied Mrs. Beach; but an expression came into her kind old face which the girl must have noticed had she not been so busy thinking of that plausible lie and the false witness it was to bear.
"Yes, auntie. I have lost that beautiful ring of brilliants that was mother's. You remember it, don't you? It was on my dressing-table—of that I am confident—before I went down to dinner."
"Was it there when you went to your room for the night?" questioned Mrs. Beach, with a trembling voice.
"I never thought of it again," answered Mabel, with the glibness born of the previous narration of the story to Nicholas; "but if it had been where I left it, of course I should have seen it."
"Well, and have you looked for it this morning?" asked the old lady.
"Yes; I have hunted all over my room, in every hole and corner, but unsuccessfully. I am afraid, auntie dear, there can be little doubt that we have a thief in the house."
"Surely not, Mabel. That is a dreadful thing to say. I would rather believe anything than that."
"I do not for a moment suspect the old servants; they have been here so long, and their honesty is beyond all question."
"Whom, then, do you suspect of so wicked an action?"
"That girl you're so fond of; that Margery Grayling, whom everybody has set up and worshipped ever since she came. I always said she was no better than she should be, and here is the proof of it."