"It will always be like this from now on," she told herself. "I hope I shall die. I can't live without his love, and go on seeing him every day!" Roger had not mentioned Clo, and Beverley held her peace. She thought it would be best to wait and see what the newspapers said. At the end of ten minutes, as the breakfast tray was being placed on the lace table cover, she strolled into the boudoir. Roger hardly looked up, feigning to be deeply interested in his paper. On other mornings--the servant being out of the room--he would have sprung from his chair to place hers, and perhaps to kiss the long braid of her golden brown hair, or the back of her white neck as it showed under her fetching little cap. "Any exciting news?" she asked in a casual tone, as she sat down--the sort of tone which other wives perhaps use to other husbands. "Nothing that interests us specially," Roger answered. "A rather sordid murder, at a third-rate hotel; there's a mystery, of course." "What hotel?" Beverley ventured to ask, pouring coffee with a hand that would shake. "One I never heard of before. Let me see, what's the name? Oh, the 'Westmorland.' You'll not be interested. Let's get to the thing I want to talk about. Can you guess what it is?" Beverley shook her head. "I am a bad guesser." "It's partly about your pearls. By the by, was the pearl-stringer satisfactory?" "Oh, quite," Beverley murmured, sipping her coffee. "I'm glad she made a good job. The rope looks as fine as if no accident had happened, I suppose?" "It's a--wonderful rope," his wife managed to reply. "I imagined you'd be wearing your gewgaws for breakfast this morning just to show they were all right!" Roger's eyes smiled coolly into hers. It was a cruel smile. "A rope of pearls at breakfast--on a tailor gown of linen--and a queen's pearls at that! What bad taste! I shall wear these splendours only on the greatest occasions." "Well, I've arranged a great occasion," said Roger. "That's principally what I want to talk about. I'd like you to send out invitations for a house party and a big dinner and dance directly after we're settled in the Newport cottage. And I'd like to move there sooner than we meant. I've decided to take a few weeks' holiday. We'll both be better out of the city." "Oh, yes!" Beverley agreed. "And I want you to do a thing to please me. Wear the queen's pearls--your pearls--on the night of the dinner and dance." XXVIII MR. JONES OF PEORIA O'Reilly had only just finished reading Clo's note, had folded it up, and put it in his pocket when he was joined by a man at whom, for a second, he stared as at a stranger. Then a slight contraction of the newcomer's eyelid and a twinkle in his eye enlightened Justin. "Well, this is good, meeting you!" exploded a jolly voice. "I hoped you hadn't forgotten poor old Dick Jones, though it's a long time since you blew out our way to Peoria. I'm here in little old New York, seeing the sights."