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."