"You are well known as a
connoisseur, Mr. Acton," he went on hurriedly. "Is your collection
valuable? If so, _keep it safe; don't trust a ring off your hand, or the
key of your jewel case out of your pocket till the house is clear again_."
The words rushed from his lips in an impetuous whisper, he gave me a
meaning glance, and departed with his daughter. I went back to the
drawing-room, my head swimming with bewilderment.
"What! The dear bishop gone!" screamed Lady Carwitchet from the central
ottoman where she sat, surrounded by most of the gentlemen, all apparently
well entertained by her conversation. "And I wanted to talk over old times
with him so badly. His poor wife was my greatest friend. Mira Montanaro,
daughter of the great banker, you know. It's not possible that that
miserable little prig is my poor Mira's girl. The heiress of all the
Montanaros in a black lace gown worth twopence! When I think of her
mother's beauty and her toilets! Does she ever wear the sapphires? Has
anyone ever seen her in them? Eleven large stones in a lovely antique
setting, and the great Valdez sapphire--worth thousands and thousands--for
the pendant." No one replied. "I wanted to get a rise out of the bishop
to-night. It used to make him so mad when I wore this."
She fumbled among the laces at her throat, and clawed out a pendant that
hung to a velvet band around her neck.
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