The anterooms were thronged with visitors whose curiosity had been whetted by a rumor that the long-expected had happened, and that the queen had gladly availed herself of the loss of her jewels as an excuse for humiliating the tyrannical favorite whose exactions had lately increased in proportion to the waning of her influence. It was whispered that the queen had been most reluctant to attend the masquerade, and that the duchess, fearing that she might repeat the slight of a recent public occasion (when Her Majesty had declined to appear in regal state in compliment to her), had exercised her privilege as Mistress of the Robes, and caused certain jewels to be conveyed to the royal tiring-room in Marlborough House. But the queen, on her arrival, had signalized her disapproval of this audacious proceeding, by refusing to make any alteration in the conspicuously simple costume she wore, and the jewels—among which the necklace was the most important—were left in the tiring-room in care of the attendants. All this, however, was mere gossip. Those more friendly to the duchess discredited the whole story and claimed to know that no royal jewels had come into the house, except on the queen’s person, and that if any were mislaid, they would certainly be found either at Kensington Palace, where Her Majesty had been residing for some weeks, or St. James’, where she had passed the previous day, in order to incur as little fatigue as possible in attending the masquerade. Ladies Rialton and Monthemer, with other members of the ducal family and household, flitted from group to group, making light of the rumored estrangement between "_poor, unfortunate, faithful Mrs. Morley_" and her erstwhile inseparable and all-powerful friend, and vowing that nothing kept them apart but the violent illness of the duchess, over whom the physicians were in consultation as to the propriety of bleeding her to avert an attack of fever. But all hints and allusions to the lost necklace were ignored, and those who were hardy enough to put their inquiries into plain words, were met with diplomatic replies that neither affirmed nor denied anything. With a greeting here and a hand-pressure there, Prue threaded her way through the crowd and hurried up-stairs to the duchess’ private apartments. The way led past the little conservatory where she had sat with Robin last night. It was dark now and the entrance was blocked with tubs containing the orange-trees and shrubs which had adorned the grand stair-case and entrance-hall. Prue’s heart beat a shade faster and a pang of remorse assailed her at the thought that by introducing Robin to this sequestered part of the house she had exceeded her privilege as a guest, and exposed both Robin and herself to a suspicion that only her utmost ingenuity could dissipate.