sleeve remained
snug where her mistress had tucked it. In pulling out one of the upper
pieces, this sleeve must have been caught in its meshes and dragged
clear. This could only have been done by the mantilla which, she
distinctly remembered, had been laid neatly on top the afternoon before,
so as to be ready for work in the morning.

"He's got it," she exclaimed in an excited tone, replacing the lid.
"I'll stake my life he stole it, the dirty cur! He's done it to get even
with her. She'll be back in a little while, half distracted. There is
going to be trouble, plenty of it. I'll have Stephen here right away,
and we'll talk it over. I can take care of her when she's inside these
rooms, but what if that man waylays her on the street and raises a row,
and she goes back to him to smooth over things? This has got to stop.
She won't live the month out if he gets to hounding her again, and now
he's found out where she is, I shan't have a moment's peace. What a
hang-dog face he's got on him! And he's a coward, too, or he wouldn't
have slunk out when I ordered him. And he had it on him all the time! I
wonder what he'll do with it. Hold it over her, I expect; maybe take it
to Rosenthal's with some lie about her, so they will discharge her and
she come back to him.

"Maybe--" Here she stopped, and grew suddenly grave. "Maybe he'll--No, I
don't think he'd dare do that, but I've got to get Stephen, and I'll go
for him this minute. Going's quicker than a letter, and I'll leave word
down-stairs where I'm gone, so she'll know when she comes in, and I'll
fix her coffee so she can get it."

Hurrying into her own room, she began changing her dress, putting on her
shoes, taking her night cloak and big, flare bonnet from the hook behind
the door, talking to herself as she moved.

"It's getting worse all the time, instead of getting better. God knows
what's to become of her! She's most beat out now, and can't stand much
more; and she's the best of the lot, except Mr. Felix, for she's clean
inside of her, and only her heart is to blame--and that father of hers,
Lord Carnavon, with his dirty pride, and this scoundrel she's wrecking
her life on, and all the fine ladies at home who turned up their noses
at her when half of them are twice as bad--oh, I know 'em--you can't
fool Martha Munger! I've been too long with 'em. And this poor child
who--Oh! I tell you this is a bad business, and it's getting worse--yes,
it's getting worse. Rosentha