She finally resolved that she would say nothing to any one concerning what Adrian Dredmond had told her, but keep the matter to herself for a few days at least; and if the governess did come to demand the jewels again, she would tell her mother, and persuade her to give them up quietly and save further trouble.
“At all events,” she added, with a sigh of relief, as she went to her own room, “she is gone, and I’ve nothing more to fear from her charms.”
Adrian Dredmond left the Coolidge mansion in a fever of impatience and indignation.
That any one should accuse Brownie Douglas of the crime of theft was sufficient to drive him wild.
Did he not know that she had been reared with tenderest care? Had she not the blood of royalty in her veins? and had he not seen her in all the brightness and purity of her young life, and been assured of her integrity by his friend Gordon?
How well he remembered that scene in the vestibule of the Art Gallery, when she had appeared like some beautiful vision to him, with her bright, sweet face, and clad so richly, yet simply, in her plain black silk, protected by the linen ulster. How lovely she had looked, with not a jewel to deck her, excepting that rich coral clasp at the throat.
Her every look, tone and movement had betokened the true lady, both then and recently, when he had met her at the opera.
That evening, as he sat in his own room, his valet brought him a note.
It was signed by Wilbur Coolidge, and told him that he would find Miss Douglas at the “Washington.”
As early the following morning as it would do, Adrian Dredmond presented himself at the “Washington” and inquired for Miss Douglas.