The Tempting of Tavernake | Page 3

slowly a few steps away.
"I suppose that I ought to thank you," she said, still with averted face
and sullen manner. "You have really been very decent. I am much
obliged."
"Are you not coming down?" he asked.
"Not at present," she answered. "I am going to my room."
He looked around the landing on which they stood, at the miserable,
uncarpeted floor, the ill-painted doors on which the long-forgotten
varnish stood out in blisters, the jumble of dilapidated hot-water cans, a
mop, and a medley of brooms and rags all thrown down together in a
corner.

"But these are the servants' quarters, surely," he remarked.
"They are good enough for me; my room is here," she told him, turning
the handle of one of the doors and disappearing. The prompt turning of
the key sounded, he thought, a little ungracious.
With the bracelet in his hand, Tavernake descended three more flights
of stairs and entered the drawing-room of the private hotel conducted
by Mrs. Raithby Lawrence, whose husband, one learned from her
frequent reiteration of the fact, had once occupied a distinguished post
in the Merchant Service of his country. The disturbance following upon
the disappearance of the bracelet was evidently at its height. There
were at least a dozen people in the room, most of whom were standing
up. The central figure of them all was Mrs. Fitzgerald, large and florid,
whose yellow hair with its varied shades frankly admitted its
indebtedness to peroxide; a lady of the dashing type, who had once
made her mark in the music-halls, but was now happily married to a
commercial traveler who was seldom visible. Mrs. Fitzgerald was
talking.
"In respectable boarding-houses, Mrs. Lawrence," she declared with
great emphasis, "thefts may sometimes take place, I will admit, in the
servants' quarters, and with all their temptations, poor things, it's not so
much to be wondered at. But no such thing as this has ever happened to
me before--to have jewelry taken almost from my person in the
drawing-room of what should be a well-conducted establishment. Not a
servant in the room, remember, from the moment I took it off until I got
up from the piano and found it missing. It's your guests you've got to
look after, Mrs. Lawrence, sorry to say it though I am."
Mrs. Lawrence managed here, through sheer loss of breath on the part
of her assailant, to interpose a tearful protest.
"I am quite sure," she protested feebly, "that there is not a person in this
house who would dream of stealing anything, however valuable it was.
I am most particular always about references."
"Valuable, indeed!" Mrs. Fitzgerald continued with increased volubility.

"I'd have you understand that I am not one of those who wear trumpery
jewelry. Thirty-five guineas that bracelet cost me if it cost a penny, and
if my husband were only at home I could show you the receipt."
Then there came an interruption of almost tragical interest. Mrs.
Fitzgerald, her mouth still open, her stream of eloquence suddenly
arrested, stood with her artificially darkened eyes riveted upon the
stolid, self-composed figure in the doorway. Every one else was gazing
in the same direction. Tavernake was holding the bracelet in the palm
of his hand.
"Thirty-five guineas!" he repeated. "If I had known that it was worth as
much as that, I do not think that I should have dared to touch it."
"You--you took it!" Mrs. Fitzgerald gasped.
"I am afraid," he admitted, "that it was rather a clumsy joke. I apologize,
Mrs. Fitzgerald. I hope you did not really imagine that it had been
stolen."
One was conscious of the little thrill of emotion which marked the
termination of the episode. Most of the people not directly concerned
were disappointed; they were being robbed of their excitement, their
hopes of a tragical denouement were frustrated. Mrs. Lawrence's worn
face plainly showed her relief. The lady with the yellow hair, on the
other hand, who had now succeeded in working herself up into a
towering rage, snatched the bracelet from the young man's fingers and
with a purple flush in her cheeks was obviously struggling with an
intense desire to box his ears.
"That's not good enough for a tale!" she exclaimed harshly. "I tell you I
don't believe a word of it. Took it for a joke, indeed! I only wish my
husband were here; he'd know what to do."
"Your husband couldn't do much more than get your bracelet back,
ma'am," Mrs. Lawrence replied with acerbity. "Such a fuss and calling
every one thieves, too! I'd be ashamed to be so suspicious."

Mrs. Fitzgerald glared haughtily at her hostess.
"It's all very well for those that don't possess any jewelry and don't
know the value of it, to talk," she declared,