Hurrying into her own room, she began changing her dress, putting on her shoes, taking her night cloak and big, flare bonnet from the hook behind the door, talking to herself as she moved. “It's getting worse all the time, instead of getting better. God knows what's to become of her! She's most beat out now, and can't stand much more; and she's the best of the lot, except Mr. Felix, for she's clean inside of her, and only her heart is to blame--and that father of hers, Lord Carnavon, with his dirty pride, and this scoundrel she's wrecking her life on, and all the fine ladies at home who turned up their noses at her when half of them are twice as bad--oh, I know 'em--you can't fool Martha Munger! I've been too long with 'em. And this poor child who--Oh! I tell you this is a bad business, and it's getting worse--yes, it's getting worse. Rosenthal isn't going to stand losing that piece of lace, without its costing somebody some money. Stephen's got to come and be around evenings while I'm out. And I'll go with her to Rosenthal's and fetch her back home, so that man Dalton can't frighten the life out of her.” She put the coffee-pot where it would keep hot, and laid the cups and saucers ready for her mistress. This done, she shut the door, and made her way down-stairs. “Tell Mrs. Stanton when she comes in,” she said to the old woman who acted as janitor, “that I've gone to see my brother, and that I'll be back just as soon as I can.” All hopes which had cheered Lady Barbara on her way to Rosenthal's, even when she climbed the long stairs and was ushered into Mangan's small office, died out of her heart when she saw the manager's face. She had anticipated an outburst of anger, followed by a brutal tirade over her carelessness in wrapping up the mantilla with the other pieces and leaving it behind her the night before. Instead, he came forward to meet her--his lean, nervous body twitching with expectation. “Well, this is something like! Didn't think you'd turn up for an hour. Let's have it.” This with a low chuckle--the nearest he ever got to a laugh. “Something dreadful has happened, Mr. Mangan,” she began, stumbling over her words, her knees shaking under her. “I thought I had wrapped the mantilla up with the pieces I brought you last night, but I see now that--” “You thought! Say, what are you giving me? Ain't you got it?” “I have not, and I don't know what has become of it. It was not in the box this morning, and--” “IT WASN'T IN THE BOX THIS MORNING!” he roared. “See here, what kind of a damn fool do you take me for?” He wheeled suddenly, caught her by the wrist, dragged her clear of the door, and shut it behind her. “Now, Mrs. Stanton,” he said, in cold, incisive tones, “let's you and I have this out, and I want to tell you right here that I believe you're lying, and I've been suspecting it for some time. Now, make a clean breast of it. You've pawned it, haven't you?”