“You mean that she came right in and stood by the desk?”
“Well, it looks like it, doesn’t it?”
Her eyes met mine serenely.
“If you want to know,” she said calmly, “I never have thought she was speaking the truth.”
“And I know you are not, Lettice.”
“What do you mean?”
She was startled.
“I mean,” I said, “that the last time I saw this earring was on Friday morning when I came up here with Colonel Melchett. It was lying with its fellow on your stepmother’s dressing-table. I actually handled them both.”
“Oh—!” She wavered, then suddenly flung herself sideways over the arm of her chair and burst into tears. Her short fair hair hung down almost touching the floor. It was a strange attitude—beautiful and unrestrained.
I let her sob for some moments in silence and then I said very gently:
“Lettice, why did you do it?”
“What?”
She sprang up, flinging her hair wildly back. She looked wild—almost terrified.
“What do you mean?”
“What made you do it? Was it jealousy? Dislike of Anne?”