Mrs. Cleveland lifts her kidded hands in real dismay.
"You have never been selling your jewels—oh, Ivy!" she cries.
"Don't be a fool, mother!" cries the dutiful daughter. "Of course I haven't sold them. You know I would die before I would part with my diamonds!"
"Then why have you been to the jeweler's?" Mrs. Cleveland asks, sharply, and Ivy answers, with a little, cunning, triumphant laugh:
"I have left my pearls and diamonds to be reset. You know I have wanted them reset ever since we came to London. At last I have my wish, and they are to be done in truly royal style."
Mrs. Cleveland stares at the speaker, the color fading from her cheeks and lips, her eyes startled.
"And who is to pay for this last mad extravagance of yours?" she demands, in a low, angry voice.
"Leslie Noble, of course," Ivy answers, laughing in her mother's face.
"She is mad, I fear—stark, raving mad," Mrs. Cleveland exclaims, gazing apprehensively at her daughter.