The Eustace Diamonds

go utterly scatheless, although, by her obstinacy and dishonesty, she had inflicted so great a loss on the distinguished family which had taken her to its bosom. “I have no reason for wishing to detain you, Lady Eustace,” he said. “If I were to talk forever, I should not, probably, make you understand the extent of the injury you have done, or teach you to look in a proper light at the position in which you have placed yourself and all those who belong to you. When your husband died, good advice was given you, and given, I think, in a very kind way. You would not listen to it, and you see the result.”

“I ain’t a bit ashamed of anything,” said Lizzie.

“I suppose not,” rejoined Mr. Camperdown.

“Goodbye, John.” And Lizzie put out her hand to her brother-in-law.

“Goodbye, Lizzie.”

“Mr. Camperdown, I have the honour to wish you good morning.” And Lizzie made a low curtsey to the lawyer, and was then attended to her carriage by the lawyer’s clerk. She had certainly come forth from the interview without fresh wounds.

“The barrister who will have the cross-examining of her at the Central Criminal Court,” said Mr. Camperdown, as soon as the door was closed behind her, “will have a job of work on his hands. There’s nothing a pretty woman can’t do when she has got rid of all sense of shame.”

“She is a very great woman,” said John Eustace⁠—“a very great woman; and, if the sex could have its rights, would make an excellent lawyer.” In the meantime Lizzie Eustace returned home to Hertford Street in triumph.

LXXIII

Lizzie’s Last Lover

Lizzie’s interview with the lawyer took place on the Wednesday afternoon, and, on her return to Hertford Street she found a note from Mrs. Carbuncle. “I have made arrangements for dining out today, and shall not return till after ten. I will do the same tomorrow, and on every day till you leave town, and you can breakfast in your own room. Of course you will carry out your plan for leaving this house on Monday. After what has passed, I shall prefer not to meet you again.⁠—J. C.” And this was written by a woman who, but a few days since, had borrowed £150 from her, and who at this moment had in her hands fifty pounds’ worth of silver-plate, supposed to have been given to Lucinda, and which clearly ought to have been returned to the donor when Lucinda’s marriage was⁠—postponed, as the newspapers had said! Lucinda at this time had left the house in Hertford Street, but Lizzie had not been informed whither she had been taken. She could not apply to Lucinda for restitution of the silver⁠—which was, in fact, held at the moment by the Albemarle Street hotelkeeper as part security for his debt⁠—and she was quite sure that any application to Mrs. Carbuncle for either the silver or the debt would be unavailing. But she might, perhaps, cause annoyance by a letter, and could, at any rate, return insult for insult. She therefore wrote to her late friend.

Madam,

I certainly am not desirous of continuing an acquaintance into which I was led by false representations, and in the course of which I have been almost absurdly hospitable to persons altogether unworthy of my kindness. You, and your niece, and your especial friend Lord George Carruthers, and that unfortunate young man your niece’s lover, were entertained at my country-house as my guests for some months. I am here, in my own right, by arrangement; and as I pay more than a proper share of the expense of the establishment, I shall stay as long as I please, and go when I please.

In the meantime, as we are about to part, certainly forever, I must beg you at once to repay me the sum of £150⁠—which you have borrowed from me; and I must also insist on your letting me have back the present of silver which was prepared for your niece’s marriage. That you should retain it as a perquisite for yourself cannot for a moment be thought of, however convenient it might be to yourself.

Yours, etc.,

E. Eustace.

As far as the application for restitution went, or indeed in regard to the insult, she might as well have written to a milestone. Mrs. Carbuncle was much too strong, and had fought her battle with the world much too long, to regard such word-pelting as that. She paid no attention to the note, and as she had come to terms with the agent of the house by which she was to evacuate it on the following Monday⁠—a fact which was communicated to Lizzie by the servant⁠—she did not much regard Lizzie’s threat to remain there. She knew, moreover, that arrangements were already being made for the journey to Scotland.

Lizzie had come back from the attorney’s chambers in triumph, and had been triumphant when she wrote her note to Mrs. Carbuncle; but her elation was considerably repressed by a short notice which she read in the fashionable evening paper of the day. She always took the fashionable evening paper, and had taught herself to think that life without it was impossible. But on this afternoon she quarrelled with that fashionable evening paper forever. The popular and well-informed organ of intelligence in question informed its readers, that the Eustace diamonds⁠—etc., etc. In fact, it told the whole story; and then expressed a hope that, as the matter had from the commencement been one of great interest to the public, who had sympathised with Lady Eustace deeply as to the loss of her diamonds, Lady Eustace would be able to explain that part of her conduct which certainly, at present, was quite unintelligible. Lizzie threw the paper from her with indignation, asking what right newspaper scribblers could have to interfere with the private affairs of such persons as herself!

But on this evening the question of