"But I have nothing!" she had protested. "You must trust me."
"But of course I trust you, your Grace," the little man had said, smiling all the while. "Such a charming lady must be honest. But you see, my dear, I do not work for myself. My superior is a hard man, a hard man."
"I do not believe you," Henry had declared hotly and none too wisely.
"Oh, but, dear me, it's a fact," the little man had said, rubbing his hands together, his grin never faltering. "But for such a pretty and grand lady, a mere token. What jewelry do you have, my dear?"
"None!" was Henry's prompt response. "And my purse is almost empty, sir. If I had wealth to leave as security, Would I be here borrowing money?"
"Oh, dear me, such a spirited young Jady," he had said. "You wear rings, my lady. One of them will serve the purpose. A mere token, you see."
Henry's eyes had widened. "You cannot have either," she said, glancing down at the gold wedding band on her left hand and the sapphire on her right. It was unthinkable to pledge the wedding ring. The other had belonged to her mother and had been left to Henry. Ever since her hands had grown large enough, Henry had worn it. She hardly ever removed it.
In the end she had pledged the sapphire ring. Now she felt sick looking down at her soapy hand and seeing it bare. For her own sake she hated to be without it. Perhaps more important for the present, she was afraid that Marius would miss it and ask her for an explanation. She might as well have pawned more of her jewels for the whole sum, she reflected gloomily.
But she shook off the gloom. She would think of some explanation to give Marius. And tonight she was going to celebrate her freedom from Oliver Cranshawe. Tomorrow she would worry about her new debts.
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Miss Manford, in the schoolroom, was showing unaccustomed firmness.
"No, my dears," she was saying, "we cannot handle this matter ourselves. The poor dear duchess must be in terrible trouble if she has resorted to appealing to a money lender. I have heard that they are dreadful people."
"But we can watch after her, Manny," Philip protested. "As long as one of us stays close, she can be in no danger. I stayed outside that house while Henry was inside. If she had not come out within a few minutes, I planned to stir up those people in the street and wail loudly that my sister had been kidnapped. I would have scared the of money leech."
I think not, dear boy," Miss Manford said. "Those people would have kept out of trouble, you may depend upon it. No, we must enlist the help of someone who can offer real assistance to dear Hen-I mean, to her Grace.",
"Well, she would never have gone there if she felt shr could have turned to the duke," said Penelope. "And I cannot understand why. He seems to me to be ever so kind. Brutus, will you stop licking Cleopatra all over? She will take a chill."
It was finally decided that two adults would be consulted. Miss Manford declared that she would talk to Mr. Ridley the next day; Philip and Penelope were to summon Giles and tell him the story. None of them was willing to seek help from Sir Peter Tallant.
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The Duke and Duchess of Eversleigh dined alone that evening and consequently were seated in their private box at the opera a good ten minutes before the performance began. Henry let her eyes rove over the pit, which was already crowded with noisy, exotic-looking dandies. It seemed obvious to her that very few of them had come out of a love of music. They were there to ogle the ladies in the boxes and to preen their male feathers before them. The occupants of the boxes seemed similarly inclined. They were there to see and to be seen. How many of them would remember more than the name of the opera once it was over?
Henry smiled to herself. The opera and its artiste would be the topics of polite conversation the next day. Everyone would be an expert critic. The smile faded when she met the stare of Oliver Cranshawe from across the way. He was sharing a box with Suzanne Broughton and two other couples, Henry noticed at a hasty glance. He smiled and bowed in her direction. Henry inclined her head stiffly in return. He did not at all look like a man who had just lost it war, she mused. She felt Marius beside her bow in the direction of a smiling Mrs. Broughton. Henry, giving no visible sign that she had even noticed the exchange, wished heartily that the woman were within reaching distance so that she could gouge the smile out of her beautiful face with her fingernails.
Eversleigh's hand reached out and took her right one in his. "I have not told you how lovely you look this evening, my love," he said, turning his attention to her. "It is a new gown, is it not?"
"Yes," she said, and for once was lost for words. The blood was hammering in her head as she tried to remove the ringless hand from his grasp without jerking it away and attracting undue attention.
"Where is your ring?" he asked, and Henry let her hand fall limp in his.
"What ring?" she asked, looking up at him and flushing, furious at her own response.
His lazy blue eves looked into hers and the lids dropped farther met their. "Your mother's sapphire, I mean, Henry," he said softly. "Where is it?"
"Oh, that ring!" she said with false brightness. "I took it off tonight. It did not match my outfit, you see."
She looked down into the pit again and smiled briefly at a gallant who had a quizzing glass directed her way. She could feel her husband's glance boring into her. "A sapphire ring does not suit the turquoise of your dress?" he said. "Henry, my love, you must be color-blind."
She did not reply.
"Have you lost it?" he persisted.
"Oh, no," she said with a trifling laugh that sounded false even to her own ears. I remember now. I took it to a jeweler's to have the setting checked. It has never been checked, you know, and I have been afraid that the stone might fall out. I should be dreadfully upset. you know, if I lost it. It is the only memento I have of Mama. I hate to be without it for a while, but it seemed-"
"Hush, my love," Eversleigh said gently, clasping more warmly the hand that he still held, "the orchestra is about to begin playing."
Henry felt her heart gradually slowing to a normal beat as she tried to concentrate on the overture that the orchestra was playing. But she was uncomfortably aware for some time that her husband was still looking at her.
The usual court of young men came to pay their respects to Henry during the first intermission. Eversleigh stayed with her until his cousin, Althea Lambert, with an escort, arrived to visit. Then he strolled away, leaving the young people to their own chatter.
Only a few minutes had passed before Oliver Cransh~we appeared in the box. Henry was aghast; she had not thought he would have the nerve. Perhaps he had not yet received her letter and the money, she thought.
"Althea," he drawled after bending low over Henry's hand and kissing it, "how delightful to see you. Er, I do believe Lady Melrose was looking for you a moment ago. Something about a rout, I believe?"
"Oh, that will be her Venetian breakfast," Althea said, brightening visibly. "Yes, indeed, she did suggest that I