Miss Cattledon tossed her head. “Much good that would do Lettice Lane! Only fill her up with worse conceits than ever. I wonder she is not yet off to Australia! She used always to be talking of it.”
“You don’t appear to like Lettice Lane, ma’am,” smiled old Tamlyn.
“No, I do not, sir. Lettice Lane first became known to me under unfavourable circumstances, and I have not liked her since.”
“Indeed! What were they?”
“Some of Miss Deveen’s jewels disappeared—were stolen; and Lettice Lane was suspected. It turned out later that she was not guilty; but I could not get over my dislike to her. We cannot help our likes and dislikes, which often come to us without rhyme or reason,” acknowledged Miss Cattledon, “and I admit that I am perhaps too persistent in mine.”
Not a soul present, myself excepted, had ever heard about the loss of the emeralds: and somehow I felt sorry that Cattledon had spoken of it. Not that she did it in ill-nature—I give her that due. Questions were immediately poured out, and she had to give the full history.
The story interested them all, Dr. Knox especially.
“And who did take the jewels?” he asked.
But Cattledon could not enlighten him, for Miss Deveen had not betrayed Sophie Chalk, even to her.
“I don’t know who it was,” tartly confessed Cattledon, the point being a sore one with her. “Miss Deveen promised, I believe, to screen the thief; and did so.”