“And it was very terrible. And then, I had been threatened with a lawsuit. You have heard that, too?”
“Yes—I had heard it.”
“I believe they have given that up now. I understand from my cousin, Mr. Greystock, who has been my truest friend in all my troubles, that the stupid people have found out at last that they had not a leg to stand on. I daresay you have heard that, Lord Fawn?”
Lord Fawn certainly had heard, in a doubtful way, the gist of Mr. Dove’s opinion, namely, that the necklace could not be claimed from the holder of it as an heirloom attached to the Eustace family. But he had heard at the same time that Mr. Camperdown was as confident as ever that he could recover the property by claiming it after another fashion. Whether or no that claim had been altogether abandoned, or had been allowed to fall into abeyance because of the absence of the diamonds, he did not know, nor did anyone know—Mr. Camperdown himself having come to no decision on the subject. But Lord Fawn had been aware that his sister had of late shifted the ground of her inveterate enmity to Lizzie Eustace, making use of the scene which Mr. Gowran had witnessed, in lieu of the lady’s rapacity in regard to the necklace. It might therefore be assumed, Lord Fawn thought and feared, that his strong ground in regard to the necklace had been cut from under his feet. But still, it did not behove him to confess that the cause which he had always alleged as the ground for his retreat from the engagement was no cause at all. It might go hard with him should an attempt be made to force him to name another cause. He knew that he would lack the courage to tell the lady that he had heard from his sister that one Andy Gowran had witnessed a terrible scene down among the rocks at Portray. So he sat silent, and made no answer to Lizzie’s first assertion respecting the diamonds.
But the necklace was her strong point, and she did not intend that he should escape the subject. “If I remember right, Lord Fawn, you yourself saw that wretched old attorney once or twice on the subject?”
“I did see Mr. Camperdown, certainly. He is my own family lawyer.”
“You were kind enough to interest yourself about the diamonds—were you not?” She asked him this as a question, and then waited for a reply. “Was it not so?”
“Yes, Lady Eustace; it was so.”
“They were of great value, and it was natural,” continued Lizzie. “Of course you interested yourself. Mr. Camperdown was full of awful threats against me;—was he not? I don’t know what he was not going to do. He stopped me in the street as I was driving to the station in my own carriage, when the diamonds were with me;—which was a very strong measure, I think. And he wrote me ever so many—oh, such horrid letters. And he went about telling everybody that it was an heirloom;—didn’t he? You know all that, Lord Fawn?”
“I know that he wanted to recover them.”
“And did he tell you that he went to a real lawyer—somebody who really knew about it, Mr. Turbot, or Turtle, or some such name as that, and the real lawyer told him that he was all wrong, and that the necklace couldn’t be an heirloom at all, because it belonged to me, and that he had better drop his lawsuit altogether? Did you hear that?”
“No;—I did not hear that.”
“Ah, Lord Fawn, you dropped your inquiries just at the wrong place. No doubt you had too many things to do in Parliament and the Government to go on with them; but if you had gone on, you would have learned that Mr. Camperdown had just to give it up—because he had been wrong from beginning to end.” Lizzie’s words fell from her with extreme rapidity, and she had become almost out of breath from the effects of her own energy.
Lord Fawn felt strongly the necessity of clinging to the diamonds as his one great and sufficient justification. “I thought,” said he, “that Mr. Camperdown had abandoned his action for the present because the jewels had been stolen.”
“Not a bit of it,” said Lizzie, rising suddenly to her legs. “Who says so? Who dares to say so? Whoever says so is—is a storyteller. I understand all about that. The action could go on just the same, and I could be made to pay for the necklace out of my own income if it hadn’t been my own. I am sure, Lord Fawn, such a clever man as you, and one who has always been in the Government and in Parliament, can see that. And will anybody believe that such an enemy as Mr. Camperdown has been to me, persecuting me in every possible way, telling lies about me to everybody—who tried to prevent my dear, darling husband from marrying me—that he wouldn’t go on with it if he could?”
“Mr. Camperdown is a very respectable man, Lady Eustace.”
“Respectable! Talk to me of respectable after all that he has made me suffer! As you were so fond of making inquiries, Lord Fawn, you ought to have gone on with them. You never would believe what my cousin said.”
“Your cousin always behaved very badly to me.”
“My cousin, who is a brother rather than a cousin, has known how to protect me from the injuries done to me—or, rather, has known how to take my part when I have been injured. My lord, as you have been unwilling to believe him, why have you not gone to that gentleman who, as I say, is a real lawyer? I don’t know, my lord, that it need have concerned you at all, but as you began, you surely should have gone on with it. Don’t you think so?” She was still standing up, and, small as was her stature, was almost menacing the
