Rhoda did not doubt that the next stage in the affair would be a gradual coolness on Sir Robert’s part towards herself, and that soon she would learn, more or less explicitly, that her honesty was under suspicion. In the meantime she dared not breathe a word of her own doubts to any one, but could only wait to be attacked. What should she do in the meantime? To ask permission to go away would be to bring fresh odium upon herself, while to remain would expose her to the possibility of more suspicion. Not unnaturally, poor Rhoda found, when the gong sounded for dinner, that her eyes were red, her face was swollen, and she was emphatically what women call “not fit to be seen.” However, there was no help for it. Downstairs she had to go, to endure as best she might the covert looks of Lady Sarah, and, of course, of Mr. Rotherfield, who, she did not doubt, would be in the secret of her discomfiture. Nothing was said about her altered looks; Sir Robert gave her a kind and reassuring smile, from which she augured, with a ray of comfort, that he had not yet been induced to doubt her. But Lady Sarah and Jack Rotherfield did not appear to notice the change in her appearance, and, although the master of the house was not so lively as he usually was in the society of his late ward, his wife and Jack kept the conversation alive during dinner. Rhoda would have escaped upstairs at once on leaving the dining-room, but Lady Sarah detained her, saying that they wanted her to play and sing for them again. “Won’t you excuse me to-night, Lady Sarah? Really, I’m not at all well,” said Rhoda. Lady Sarah pulled her down the stairs peremtorily. “Nonsense,” whispered she. “I know all about it. I know what’s the matter. Only of course I couldn’t allude to it before the servants. Come into the drawing-room and let us talk it over.” Trembling and reluctant, but unable to resist the wilful beauty, even though she hated her for her dissimilation and her treachery, Rhoda had to consent to a _tête-à-tête_ which she would have given the world to avoid. In to the brightly lighted apartment, therefore, which could scarcely be recognised as the old drawing-room where the unhappy Langton had met his death, Rhoda was dragged. Lady Sarah threw her down into the deep-seated settee near the fireplace, and pulling across the floor a high round stool, she seated herself upon it, embraced her knees like a child, and nodded gravely at the girl two or three times. “Yes, I know all about it,” she said. “Sir Robert told me. Some wretch has stolen three or four of Sir Robert’s patch-boxes, and you and he thinks that your keys or his must have been got at. It’s very unpleasant and uncomfortable, and I’m sorry for your sake. But not so much for any other. It will be a lesson to Sir Robert not to waste so much money as he does on things that he could enjoy just as well in a museum, and which can never be made quite safe in a private house.” Rhoda stared at her stupidly.