Sir Geoffrey bowed his acquiescence, but his smile was not reassuring.
"We all know what an admirable raconteuse Barbara is, and I was naturally much worked up by her story of the lost necklace; in fact I could scarcely restrain my impatience to hear a more authentic account," Prue proceeded, recovering her self-confidence, which for a moment had wavered under Sir Geoffrey's attack. "So the moment my visitors left me, I sent for a chair and started for Marlborough House, to get my information at first hand. At a short distance, however, I was interrupted by a person who thrust this paper into my hand."
She drew from her bosom the crumpled document which had already played an important part in her version of the affair, and handed it to him.
Sir Geoffrey read it carefully, refolded it, and meeting her eye, bowed gravely, as though to intimate that he was too much interested to break the thread of the narrative, even by a word.
"You know my love of adventure too well to doubt that I instantly decided to risk everything and follow this clue. It took me to a dismal old house—empty, I believe, except for an old hag, who, keeping her face concealed, thrust the casket into my hands and at the first sound of the soldiers' approach, disappeared."
Sir Geoffrey softly clapped his hands, as though in applause.
"Capital! excellent!" he cried. "My dear Prue, with shame I confess that I never before have done justice to the vast resources of your wit. I actually dared to wonder how you had managed to forestall suspicion and snatch safety out of the jaws of peril. You have surpassed yourself! To plan so subtly; to execute so promptly! To omit nothing—even the written proof—and to crown it all with a guileless frankness that might disarm the most captious, and certainly would have deceived me, if I had not been close beside you from the moment you emerged from your own door until that of Robin Freemantle hid you from my jealous eyes!"
Then suddenly, without giving her time to disguise the startled dismay that sprang to her eyes, he bent forward and seized her two hands in his.
"Why treat your faithful lover so harshly, sweet Prue?" he went on passionately. "Have I not proven my love again and again in the defense of your reputation and in unquestioning submission to your caprices? Have I not endured your coldness and yielded my just claims before the scruple that prompted you to deny your future husband the smallest favor, while the phantom of a vow linked you to a felon? And am I to have no reward, not even enough of your confidence to enable me to give the lie to your traducers?"
"My traducers!" she cried impatiently. "Who are they? At present the only person who has dared to cast a doubt on my veracity is—Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert!"