"Stop!"
"Well?"
Sir Thomas dabbed at his forehead with his handkerchief. He dared not face the vision of Lady Julia in possession of the truth. At one time, the fear lest she might discover the harmless little deception he had practised had kept him awake at night, but gradually, as the days went by and the excellence of the imitation stones had continued to impose upon her and upon everyone else who saw them, the fear had diminished. But it had always been at the back of his mind. Even in her calmer moments, his wife was a source of mild terror to him. His imagination reeled at the thought of what depths of aristocratic scorn and indignation she would plumb in a case like this.
"Spencer," he said, "I insist that you shall not inform your aunt of this!"
"What? You want me to keep my mouth shut? You want me to become an accomplice in this beastly, low-down deception? I like that!"
"The point," said Jimmy, "is well taken. Noblesse oblige, and all that sort of thing. The blood of the Dreevers boils furiously at the idea. Listen! You can hear it sizzling."
Lord Dreever moved a step nearer the door.
"Stop!" cried Sir Thomas again. "Spencer!"
"Well?"
"Spencer, my boy, it occurs to me that perhaps I have not always treated you very well—"