"’Tis likely," cried Barbara. "I had so much to tell you, that I forgot that this Robin is not a mere ordinary highwayman; he is a Jacobite plotter, no less, and is known to carry letters and messages from rebels in the South to those in the North and back again—doing, I presume, a little highway robbery on the way, for the good of the cause. Mayhap he appropriated the queen’s necklace as a contribution to the treasury of the ’King in Exile.’" "Barbara!" exclaimed Prue and Peggie together, in a panic. "My dear Lady Barbara," put in the thin, incisive voice of Lady Drumloch, "the ’King in Exile’ is the queen’s brother and probably—may the day be distant—will succeed her. I can not permit such insinuations to be made in my presence, against the cause for which my husband and my son laid down their lives." "Pray pardon me, dearest Lady Drumloch," cried Lady Barbara, really shocked at her own want of tact. "I meant no harm—my tongue runs away with me—and to be sure, I have no greater fancy for a Dutchman on the throne than any other loyal Englishwoman. Yet ’tis true that Robin Freemantle is only the _nom de guerre_ of one of the most turbulent rebels against the queen’s government—" "If by that you mean the Whigs, you should rather say against the Duchess of Marlborough’s government," retorted Lady Drumloch crisply. "And what is the real name of this—rebel?" inquired Prue. "Why, he calls himself De Cliffe, and if he really is an offshoot of the family, that would explain why Beachcombe obtained a pardon for him," said Lady Barbara. "Indeed, it requires explaining," remarked Prue, who had quite regained her self-command. "It is much easier to understand why he is sending him to the Tower, if he be a poor relation." During the laughter that followed this sally, other guests arrived and the loss of the queen’s diamond necklace having, by this time, become pretty generally known, poor Prue had to listen to every variation of the story and every kind of theory concerning it, all leading to the same conclusion, that Robin the highwayman had been at the masquerade ball and profiting by opportunity—the Ruling Planet of adventurers—had carried off a prize of incalculable value. With difficulty she eluded Sir Geoffrey’s ironical condolences, and took her accustomed part in the heedless chatter, watching the clock as minute by minute slipped away and still her visitors lingered. "Oh! if they would only go," she whispered to Peggie. "Do you think if I were to fall in a fit, or make James give an alarm of fire, that it would speed the parting guest?"