“No, it is difficult,” she assented, again fingering the necklace, “to say what people will give for them.”

I leaned back in my chair.  There was a pause.  Then her eyes suddenly met mine again, and she exclaimed defiantly: 

“Oh, you know very well what it means!  What’s the good of fencing about it?”

“Yes, I know what it means,” said I.  “When have you promised to go?”

“To-morrow,” she answered.

“Because of this thing?” and I pointed to the necklace.

“Because of—­How dare you ask me such questions!”

I rose from my seat and bowed.

“You are going?” she asked, her fingers on the necklace, and her eyes avoiding mine.

“I have the honor,” said I, “to enjoy the friendship of the Duchess of Saint-Maclou.”

“And that forbids you to enjoy mine?”

I bowed assent to her inference.  She sat still at the table, her chin on her hands.  I was about to leave her, when it struck me all in a moment that leaving her was not exactly the best thing to do, although it might be much the easiest.  I arrested my steps.

“Well,” she asked, “is not our acquaintance ended?”

And she suddenly opened her hands and hid her face in them.  It was a strange conclusion to a speech so coldly and distantly begun.

“For God’s sake, don’t go!” said I, bending a little across the table toward her.

“What’s it to you?  What’s it to anybody?” came from between her fingers.

“Your mother—­” I began.

She dropped her hands from her face, and laughed.  It was a laugh the like of which I hope not to hear again.  Then she broke out: 

“Why wouldn’t she have me in the house?  Why did she run away?  Am I unfit to touch her?”

“If she were wrong, you’re doing your best to make her right.”

“If everybody thinks one wicked, one may as well be wicked, and—­and live in peace.”

“And get diamonds?” I added, “Weren’t you wicked?”

“No,” she said, looking me straight in the face.  “But what difference did that make?”

“None at all, in one point of view,” said I. But to myself I was swearing that she should not go.

Then she said in a very low tone: 

“He never leaves me.  Ah! he makes everyone think—­”

“Let ’em think,” said I.

“If everyone thinks it—­”

“Oh, come, nonsense!” said I.

“You know what you thought.  What honest woman would have anything to do with me—­or what honest man either?”

I had nothing to say about that; so I said again.

“Well, don’t go, anyhow.”

She spoke in lower tones, as she answered this appeal of mine: 

“I daren’t refuse.  He’ll be here again; and my mother—­”

“Put it off a day or two,” said I.  “And don’t take that thing.”

She looked at me, it seemed to me, in astonishment.