It was not her desire that she should live on bad terms with her mother. She understood her too well, which was unfortunate for both, and it would be all the happier for them if they could maintain some pretence of friendship. Mrs. Cathcart came straight to the point. “I suppose you know why I have called,” she said, after the first exchange. “I suppose you have brought the necklace,” said the girl with a smile. “You do not think I am horrid to ask for it, but I feel I ought to do something for Gilbert.” “I think you might have chosen another subject for your first letter,” said the elder woman grimly, “but still----” Edith made no reply. It was useless to argue with her mother. Mrs. Cathcart had a quality which is by no means rare in the total of human possessions, the quality of putting other people in the wrong. “I am more sorry,” Mrs. Cathcart resumed, “because I am not in a position to give you your necklace.” The girl stared at her mother in wonder. “Why! Whatever do you mean, mother?” she asked. Mrs. Cathcart carefully avoided her eyes. “I have had losses on the Stock Exchange,” she said. “I suppose you know that your father left us just sufficient to starve on, and whatever luxury and whatever comfort you have had has been due to my own individual efforts? I have lost a lot of money over Canadian Pacifics,” she said bluntly. “Well?” asked the girl, wondering what was coming next, and fearing the worst. “I made a loss of seven hundred pounds with a firm of stockbrokers,” Mrs. Cathcart continued, “and I deposited your necklace with the firm as security.” The girl gasped. “I intended, of course, redeeming it, but an unfortunate thing happened--the safe was burgled and the necklace was stolen.” Edith Standerton stared at the other. The question of the necklace did not greatly worry her, yet she realised now that she had depended rather more upon it than she had thought. It was a little nest-egg against a bad time, which, if Gilbert spoke the truth, might come at any moment. “It cannot be helped,” she said. She did not criticise her mother or offer any opinion upon the impropriety of offering as security for debt articles which are the property of somebody else. Such criticism would have been wasted, and the effort would have been entirely superfluous. “Well,” asked Mrs. Cathcart, “what have you got to say?” The girl shrugged her shoulders. “What can I say, mother? The thing is lost, and there is an end to it. Do the firm offer any compensation?” She asked the question innocently: it occurred to her as a wandering thought that possibly something might be saved from the wreck. Mrs. Cathcart shot a swift glance at her. Had that infernal Warrell been communicating with her? She knew that Warrell was a friend of Edith’s husband. It would be iniquitous of him if he had. “Some compensation was offered,” she answered carelessly, “quite inadequate; the matter is not settled yet, but I will let you know how it develops.”