"What's the good of saying you haven't got the jewelry," she cried, "when you know you have? Give it to her or I'll--I'll go out into the middle of the road and shout at the top of my voice that there's a snake in the house, and people will have to come in and look for it, because when they didn't believe about the baboon in Mrs. Meares's room the baboon was there all the time." She stopped and challenged Monkley with flashing eyes, head thrown back, and agitated breast. "You oughtn't to talk to a grown-up person like that, you know," said her father. Something unspeakably soft in his attitude infuriated Sylvia, and spinning round she flashed out at him: "If you don't make Monkley give back the things you stole I'll tell everybody about _you_. I mean it. I'll tell everybody." She stamped her feet. "That's a daughter," said Henry. "That's the way they're bringing them up nowadays--to turn round on their fathers." "A daughter?" Monkley echoed, with an odd look at his friend. "I mean son," said Henry, weakly. "Anyway, it's all the same." Monkley seemed to pay no more attention to the slip, but went over to Maudie and began to coax her. "Come on, Maudie, don't turn away from a good pal. What if we did take a few things? They shouldn't have left them behind. People deserve to lose things if they're so careless." "That's quite true," Henry agreed, virtuously. "It'll be a lesson to them." "Go back and pack up your things, my dear, and get out of the house. I'll see you through. You shall take another name and go on the stage right away. What's the good of crying over a few rings and bangles?" But Maudie refused to be comforted. "Give them back to me. Give them back to me," she moaned. "Oh, all right," Monkley said, suddenly. "But you're no sport, Maudie. You've got the chance of your life and you're turning it down. Well, don't blame me if you find yourself still a slavey five years hence." Monkley went down-stairs and came back again in a minute or two with a parcel wrapped up in tissue-paper. "You haven't kept anything back?" Maudie asked, anxiously. "My dear girl, you ought to know how many there were. Count them." "Would you like me to give you back the hair-wash?" Henry asked, indignantly. Maudie rose to go away. "You're not angry with me, Jim?" she asked, pleadingly. "Oh, get out!" he snapped. Maudie turned pale and rushed from the room. "Silly b----h," Monkley said. "Well, it's been a very instructive morning," he added, fixing Sylvia with his green eyes and making her feel uncomfortable. "Some people make a fuss about the least little thing," Henry said. "There was just the same trouble when I pawned my wife's jewelry. Coming round the corner to have one?" he inquired, looking at Monkley, who said he would join him presently and followed him out of the room.