“She doesn’t tell them to me. I imagine she will leave here as soon as possible. She doesn’t like me—she never has. I dare say it’s my fault, though I’ve really always tried to be decent. But I suppose any girl resents a young stepmother.”
“Are you fond of her?” I asked bluntly.
She did not reply at once, which convinced me that Anne Protheroe is a very honest woman.
“I was at first,” she said. “She was such a pretty little girl. I don’t think I am now. I don’t know why. Perhaps it’s because she doesn’t like me. I like being liked, you know.”
“We all do,” I said, and Anne Protheroe smiled.
I had one more task to perform. That was to get a word alone with Lettice Protheroe. I managed that easily enough, catching sight of her in the deserted drawing-room. Griselda and Gladys Cram were out in the garden.
I went in and shut the door.
“Lettice,” I said, “I want to speak to you about something.”
She looked up indifferently.
“Yes?”
I had thought beforehand what to say. I held out the lapis earring and said quietly:
“Why did you drop that in my study?”
I saw her stiffen for a moment—it was almost instantaneous. Her recovery was so quick that I myself could hardly have sworn to the movement. Then she said carelessly: