"You too?" cried Barbara, raising hands and eyes appealingly to the offended heavens. "Can neither matrimony nor paternity cure the Prue-fever?—nor even phlebotomy at the hands of so skilful a chirurgeon as Sir Geoffrey Beaudesert? Pray, if one may venture to inquire, what may be your interest in the recovery of the queen’s necklace, since surely it can not be either friendship or love?" The look he gave her certainly suggested neither of these emotions, but his voice was under better control. "My interest, dear Lady Barbara, is so far selfish that as the robbery was perpetrated under cover of my domino, I should certainly have wished to take part in the finding of the jewel—and the thief." "La!" cried Barbara, smiling enigmatically. "How unfortunate that the necklace has been returned and the thief arrested without your assistance!" "Arrested!" her auditors exclaimed together, but in very different tones. Lord Beachcombe’s vibrated with gratified hatred, Prue’s trembled with dismay. The color dropped from her cheek, and but for Peggie’s promptitude, her agitation would have betrayed her beyond concealment. She, however, had been hovering on the threshold trying to attract her cousin’s attention, and now ran forward with great vivacity, and by a torrent of eager questions, drew attention to herself and gave Prue time to recover from her perturbation, though not before it had been observed with malicious inference by Lord Beachcombe. "Why, truly, I scarcely expected to bring news to the fountain-head," Barbara ran on. "Yet ’tis a fact, my poor Prue, that your romance has a very commonplace finale. ’Tis no dashing exploit of a bold highwayman, after all, no hairbreadth escape from a robber’s den, but merely the outcome of an intrigue between a chambermaid and a scrivener’s clerk; and a fit of vulgar jealousy has pricked the bubble of your romance, my love!" Greatly to the astonishment of both her visitors, Prue’s face, instead of falling in dismay, became irradiated with the loveliest expression of joy. Her eyes, softly luminous, swam in a rapturous mist and dimples played in the damask that suddenly drove the pallor from her cheek. Such a transformation could hardly fail to astonish even those most accustomed to the swift variations of this creature of caprice. "Tell us quickly, dear Barbara," she cried, with a little tremolo of excitement in her voice. "You know ’twas near midnight when the duchess brought me home, and I was so tired I slept until noon—all my visitors this morning have come to seek information—not to impart it. Do, pray, tell me what has happened."