we want is to
agitate--agitate--until he leaves his absurd plaything--carrots, is it,
or summer squash?--and gets into business in a civilised way. The man's
a genius, if only his mind wakes up. Let him think we're going to spread
the necklace story far and wide, let him see Esther about to be hauled
before public opinion--"

"He doesn't love Esther," said Lydia, and then savagely bit her lip.

"Don't you believe it," said Madame Beattie sagely. "She's only to crook
her finger. Agitate. Why, I'll do it myself. There's that dirty little
man that wants an interview for his paper. I'll give him one."

"Weedon Moore?" asked Lydia. "Anne won't let me know him."

"Well, you do know him, don't you?"

"I saw him once. But when I threaten to take Jeff's case to him, if Mr.
Choate won't stir himself, Anne says I sha'n't even speak to him. He
isn't nice, she thinks. I don't know who told her."

"Choate, my dear," said Madame Beattie. "He's afraid Moore will get hold
of you. He's blocking your game, that's all."

Madame Beattie, the next day, did go to Weedon Moore's office. He was
unprepared for her and so the more agonisingly impressed. Here was a
rough-spoken lady who, he understood, was something like a princess in
other countries, and she was offering him an interview.

Madame Beattie showed she had the formula, and could manage quite well
alone.

"The point is the necklace," said she, sitting straight and fanning
herself, regarding him with so direct a gaze that he pressed his knees
in nervous spasms. "You don't need to ask me how old I am nor whether I
like this country. The facts are that I was given a very valuable
necklace--by a Royal Personage. Bless you, man! aren't you going to take
it down?"

"Yes, yes," stammered Moore. "I beg your pardon."

He got block and pencil, and though the attitude of writing relieved him
from the necessity of looking at her, he felt the sweat break out on his
forehead and knew how it was dampening his flat hair.

"The necklace," said Madame Beattie, "became famous. I wore it just
enough to give everybody a chance to wonder whether I was to wear it or
not. The papers would say, 'Madame Beattie wore the famous necklace.'"

"Am I permitted to say--" Weedon began, and then wondered how he could
proceed.

"You can say anything I do," said Madame Beattie promptly. "No more. Of
course not anything else. What is it you want to say?"

Weedon dropped the pencil, and under the table