She could not help feeling mortified that the child should have made that unfortunate remark. She felt also that her excuse was a lame one. Did he really believe her story?
From the steel safe in her daintily-furnished room, with its silken upholstery in old rose, she took the big, square, velvet-lined case, and, opening it, gazed upon the string of splendid pearls. She took them out tenderly and, standing before the long cheval-glass, put them round her neck—for the last time.
As she examined herself in the mirror she sighed, her face hard, pale, and full of anxiety and distress.
Would Bracondale notice the change in her?
She put away the pearls, and, replacing the case in the safe, locked it.
Bates, her rather sour-faced maid, entered at the moment. She was a thin, angular person, very neat and prim, an excellent hairdresser, and a model of what a first-class maid should be.
“Why, you don’t look well this afternoon, madam,” she said, glancing at her inquiringly.
“No, Bates. It’s the heat, I think. Will you bring me my smelling-salts?” she asked, as she sank into an arm-chair, a pretty figure in her pale-blue silk dressing-gown.
The maid brought the large, silver-topped bottle across from the dressing-table and handed it to her mistress, who, after sniffing it, dismissed her.