"After Estella's departure," she continued, "the breach widened between Colonel Greystock and Inez. She left off her tantrums, and ceased to make bitter speeches—indeed I think her stock of bitter speeches must have been quite exhausted—but she cared less and less for her husband's society, and loved to shut herself up alone with the guitar. She had no children; she made no friends; other women could not break through the impenetrable barrier of reserve which she had built up around her. I daresay a great many people pitied Colonel Greystock; but I don't think he concerned himself very much about his melancholy wife. He went his way, and left her strumming on the guitar and brooding over her miseries. You are angry with him, Louie, I see." "He is just the kind of man I could hate!" cried I. "Nonsense, my dear. He was moral and highly respectable, quite an ornament, as people said, to his profession. A heart, you know, is a most unfortunate thing for any one to possess; it is sure to retard one's advancement in life. Colonel Greystock was a lucky man; he had no heart, and he got on very well indeed. In fact, he seemed always to escape the disasters that overtook others, and when the mutiny broke out at Meerut, he happened to be away from the place." "It was there that his wife met her death," said William Greystock. "Yes, but the particulars have never been fully known. It was on a Sunday that the Sepoys rose, and most of the ladies of Meerut were in church. Inez, poor soul, was at home in her own house, and was killed there. It was said afterwards that a native soldier tried vainly to save her life, and that she had begged him with her last breath to take care of her guitar. A most incredible story, it seems to me." "I don't know that it is incredible," William remarked. "She was either quite mad, or there really was a mysterious reason for preserving her guitar. Ronald, you know, has always inclined to the latter belief. He thinks that if the guitar could be found, those missing jewels of hers would be found also." "That story of the missing jewels is a mere fiction," Lady Waterville answered, contemptuously. "Surely, William, you are not romantic enough to believe in such a wild tale! No one ever saw those wonderful jewels; even Colonel Greystock declared that his wife had never mentioned them to him. The only person who ever spoke of their existence was Estella Hepburne, and her account of them was of the vaguest kind." "But she believed in them," said William, "and I fancy she must have had some substantial reason for her belief. They were chiefly diamonds, I think; and had been left, of course, to Inez Greystock by her first husband, Wendall, the diamond merchant." Lady Waterville was so astonished at Mr. Greystock's absurdity that she became almost excited.