Noticing Bertram’s preoccupied and distressed expression and the litter of objects on the floor, she is afraid she appears at an inopportune moment. “Lord’s sakes, sir!” she murmurs, “what hev happened?” “Critchett is a thief, Annie. I caught him in the act,” replies Bertram, with tragic force. “Mother always knew as he was so, sir,” replies the girl, not astonished. “But she didn’t dare to tell you. You was that fond on him.” “How could she possibly know?” “Well, sir, he was allers a-boasting of ’ow he fleeced you. I believe all the gentlemen’s gentlemen in these ’ere parts o’ London know how he tricked ye. Law, sir, he even pawned your shirts!” “Why didn’t you warn me?” “Well, you see, sir, we didn’t like to lose a man his place.” “You condoned a felony sooner?” “Please, sir, I don’t know what that is. But poor folk don’t never take the bread out of each other’s mouths. And, besides, you wouldn’t have believed anybody against Critchett, sir. You were that wrapped up in him.” “How cruelly one may be deceived!” “’Tis easy to deceive you, sir, as instead of seeing people as they is, you see ’em as you fancies ’em to be.” “Perhaps so. I fear I am a greater fool than I thought.” “Oh, no, sir; only too trustin’ like.” “Well, well,” says Bertram, much irritated, “Critchett is a thing of the past. We will never speak of him. But why have you come to my rooms, my dear girl? It is not--not quite--correct. Cæsar’s wife you know. But perhaps you never heard of her----” “No, sir. Who was the lady? I only came to say a word, Mr. Bertram. There aren’t no harm in it, though mother would be angry over the place.” “If you had sent me a line I would have called on you.” “You see, sir, mother’s and sister Kate’s at home, they’d hear every word, and I want to speak to you all alone. I won’t be many minutes. I don’t think it’s any harm my comin’, though mother would be fit to kill me if she knew----” “Your mother is quite right in her views, Annie. Young women cannot be too circumspect.” “I’m allus circumspec’, sir; and--oh, Lord, Mr. Bertram, what a beautiful string o’ pearls!” “They were my mother’s, Annie. They will be yours.” “Mine, sir! Lord, never! The idea of Critchett takin’ them pearls. Why they must be worth thousands and thousands!” “No, a few hundreds. My mother left these things to me for my wife when I should have one. They are very sacred to me. They will be as dear to you, Annie, I am sure?” “Oh, sir, they’ll never be mine. You might as well talk of my wearin’ the crown of England.” “Always low and servile comparisons, Annie!” “Lord, sir, be a queen’s crown low?” “To think of it as a desirable and enviable thing is extremely low.” “I’m afraid, sir, I don’t understand. Will you please put up these pearls? They’re that beautiful I don’t dare touch ’em.” “They will be my wife’s. Therefore I repeat they will be yours.”