Elena coloured furiously: "Is it necessary for me to incriminate myself before you help me? I thought you more generous!"
"I can not help you. There is no way to do so."
"Yes, there is!"
"How?"
"By—by telling my husband that the—the jades are not forgeries!"
Jacqueline's ashy cheeks blazed into colour.
"Mrs. Clydesdale," she said, "I would not do it to save myself—not even to save the dearest friend I have! And do you think I will lie to spare you?"
In the excitement and terror of what now was instantly impending, the girl had risen, clutching Mrs. Hammerton's letter in her hand.
"You need not tell me why you—you are afraid," she stammered, her lovely lips already distorted with fear and horror, "because I—I know! Do you understand? I know what you are—what you have done—what you are doing!"
She fumbled in the pages of Mrs. Hammerton's letter, found an enclosure, and held it out to Elena with shaking fingers.