He shook his head. “I hardly think they’d believe that even from you. That Montague Vaughan, whose income is what he desires it to be, should lower himself to help me, is one of the truthful things nobody could possibly credit. If you could ring in some poor but honest young man it would sound so much more probable, but Monty, no.”
She looked at him like a thing stricken. Her poor bravado fell from her. She felt beaten, and dreaded to think what might be the price of her failure.
“And since you forced me,” he added, “I’ve had to play my last card. The note that I threw to Monty was a letter to you. He’ll leave it where it can easily be found.”
“A letter to me!” she repeated.
“It contained a suggestion that you try to get the room next mine, pleading nervousness, and come here to-night. It was the invitation—of a lover.”
“You beast!” she cried, flaming out into rage. “You coward!”
“You had your warning,” he reminded her. “The note will be conclusive, and no matter what you say, you will find yourself prejudged. It’s the world’s way to prejudge. The servants don’t seem to be coming, and you’ll be found here in the morning. What explanation will you have to offer?” He waited for her to speak, but she made no answer.
“I think the episode of the necklace remains as between just you and me,” he added slowly, watching her closely.
“The servants will come,” she cried. “I shan’t have to stay here.”
“If they disappoint you,” he remarked, “may I suggest that burglar-alarm? It will wake everybody up, the Harringtons, Miss Rutledge, and all, even if they’re in bed and asleep soundly. Why don’t you ring it? Miss Cartwright, I dare you to ring it!”