old
dowager's tea-party without them. Mr. John Eustace has chosen to
accuse me of stealing them."

"I don't think John Eustace has ever said a word about them," said
Frank.

"Mr. Camperdown, then;--the people who choose to call themselves
the guardians and protectors of my boy, as if I were not his best
guardian and protector! I'll show them at any rate that I'm not
ashamed of my booty. I don't see why I should lock them up in a musty
old bank. Why don't you send your ring to the bank?" Frank could
not but feel that she did it all very well. In the first place she
was very pretty in the display of her half-mock indignation. Though
she used some strong words, she used them with an air that carried
them off and left no impression that she had been either vulgar or
violent. And then, though the indignation was half mock, it was also
half real, and her courage and spirit were attractive. Greystock had
at last taught himself to think that Mr. Camperdown was not justified
in the claim which he made, and that in consequence of that unjust
claim Lizzie Eustace had been subjected to ill-usage. "Did you ever
see this bone of contention," she asked;--"this fair Helen for which
Greeks and Romans are to fight?"

"I never saw the necklace, if you mean that."

"I'll fetch it. You ought to see it, as you have to talk about it so
often."

"Can I get it?" asked Miss Macnulty.

"Heaven and earth! To suppose that I should ever keep them under
less than seven keys, and that there should be any of the locks that
anybody should be able to open except myself!"

"And where are the seven keys?" asked Frank.

"Next to my heart," said Lizzie, putting her hand on her left side.
"And when I sleep they are always tied round my neck in a bag, and
the bag never escapes from my grasp. And I have such a knife under my
pillow, ready for Mr. Camperdown should he come to seize them!" Then
she ran out of the room, and in a couple of minutes returned with the
necklace hanging loose in her hand. It was part of her little play
to show by her speed that the close locking of the jewels was a
joke, and that the ornament, precious as it was, received at her
hands no other treatment than might any indifferent feminine bauble.
Nevertheless within those two minutes she had contrived to unlock
the heavy iron case which always stood beneath the foot of her bed.
"There," she said, chucking the necklace across the table to Frank,
so that he was barely able to