Maxine threw herself on the sofa, gathering up the necklace from the
cushion where it had fallen, and lifting it in both hands pressed the
glittering mass against her lips and cheeks.

"Thank God, thank God--and thank you, Ivor, best of friends!" she said
brokenly, in so low a voice that no ear could have caught her words,
even if pressed against the keyhole. Then, letting the diamonds drop
into her lap, she flung back her head and laughed and cried together.

"Oh, Ivor, Ivor!" she panted, between her sobs and hysterical gusts of
laughter. "The agony of it--the agony--and the joy now! You're
wonderful. Good, precious Ivor--dear friend--saint."

At this I laughed too, partly to calm her, and patted gently the hands
with which she had nervously clutched my sleeve.

"Heaven knows I don't deserve one of those epithets," I said, "I'll just
stick to friend."

"Not deserve them?" she repeated. "Not deserve them, when you've saved
me--I don't yet understand how--from a horror worse than death--oh, but
a thousand times worse, for I wanted to die. I meant to die. If they had
found it, I shouldn't have lived to see to-morrow morning. Tell me--how
did you work such a miracle? How did you get this necklace, that meant
so much to me (and to one I love), and how did you hide the--other
thing?"

"I don't know anything about this necklace," I answered, stupidly, "I
didn't bring it."