little widow, I do believe she has been made a
victim. She first lost her diamonds, and now her other
jewels and her money have gone. I cannot see what she was
to gain by treachery, and I think she has been ill-used.
She is staying at the house of that Mrs. Carbuncle, but
all the same I shall go and call on her. I wish you could
see her, because she is such a little beauty;--just what
you would like; not so much colour as our friend, but
perfect features, with infinite play,--not perhaps always
in the very best taste; but then we can't have everything;
can we, dear duke?

As to the real thief;--of course you must burn this at
once, and keep it strictly private as coming from me;--I
fancy that delightful Scotch lord managed it entirely.
The idea is, that he did it on commission for the Jew
jewellers. I don't suppose he had money enough to carry it
out himself. As to the second robbery, whether he had or
had not a hand in that, I can't make up my mind. I don't
see why he shouldn't. If a man does go into a business,
he ought to make the best of it. Of course, it was a poor
thing after the diamonds; but still it was worth having.
There is some story about a Sir Griffin Tewett. He's a
real Sir Griffin, as you'll find by the peerage. He was to
marry a young woman, and our Lord George insists that he
shall marry her. I don't understand all about it, but the
girl lives in the same house with Lady Eustace, and if I
call I shall find out. They say that Sir Griffin knows all
about the necklace, and threatens to tell unless he is let
off marrying. I rather think the girl is Lord George's
daughter, so that there is a thorough complication.

I shall go down to Matching on Saturday. If anything turns
up before that, I'll write again, or send a message. I
don't know whether Plantagenet will be able to leave
London. He says he must be back on Monday, and that he
loses too much time on the road. Kiss my little darlings
for me,--[the darlings were Lady Glencora's children, and
the duke's playthings]--and give my love to Madame Max. I
suppose you don't see much of the others.

Most affectionately yours,

GLENCORA.

On the next day Lady Glencora actually did call in Hertford Street,
and saw our friend Lizzie. She was told by the servant that Lady
Eustace was in bed; but, with her usual persistence, she asked
ques