"Yes! yes!" said Lydia, moistening her white, dry lips, "it is gone; but I do not know who took it." "The person who killed your husband." "I feared as much," she muttered, sitting down again. "Do you know the name of the person?" "As well as you do yourself. The name is Lydia Vrain!" "I!" She threw herself back on the chair with a look of profound astonishment on her colourless face. "Mr. Denzil," she stammered, "is--is this--is this a jest?" "You will not find it so, Mrs. Vrain." The little woman clutched the arms of her chair and leaned forward with her face no longer pale, but red with rage and indignation. "If you are a gentleman, Mr. Denzil, I guess you won't keep me hanging on like this. Let us get level. Do you say I killed Mark?" "Yes, I do!" said Lucian defiantly. "I am sure of it." "On what grounds?" asked Mrs. Vrain, holding her temper back with a visible effort, that made her eyes glitter and her breath short. "On the grounds that he was killed with that stiletto and----" "Go slow! How do you know he was killed with that stiletto?" "Because the ribbon which attached it to the wall was found in the Geneva Square house, where your husband was killed. Miss Vrain recognised it." "Miss Vrain--Diana! Is she in England?" "Not only in England, but in London." "Then why hasn't she been to see me?" Denzil did not like to answer this question, the more so as Lydia's sudden divergence from the point of discourse rather disconcerted him. It is impossible to maintain dignity in making a serious accusation when the person against whom it is made thinks so little of it as to turn aside to discuss a point of etiquette in connection with another woman. Seeing that her accuser was silent and confused, Lydia recovered her tongue and colour, and the equability of her temper. It was, therefore, with some raillery that she continued her speech: "I see how it is," she said contemptuously, "Diana has called you into her councils in order to fix this absurd charge on to me. Afraid to come herself, she sends you as the braver person of the partnership. I congratulate you on your errand, Mr. Denzil." "You can laugh as much as you like, Mrs. Vrain, but the matter is more serious than you suppose." "Oh, I am sure that my loving stepdaughter will make it as serious as possible. She always hated me." "Pardon me, Mrs. Vrain," said Lucian, colouring with annoyance, "but I did not come here to hear you speak ill of Miss Vrain." "I know that! She sent you here to speak ill _of_ me and do ill _to_ me. Well, so you and she accuse me of killing Mark? I shall be glad to hear the evidence you can bring forward. If you can make your charge good I should smile. Oh, I guess so!"