“I’ll dictate them to you. I suppose they just want tactful answers.”

Sally gave her delightful laugh.

“And you would be so good at that!”

“Oh, I can be tactful when I choose. It’s mostly waste of time, when it’s not plain insincerity.” He used the back of the chair to prop the professor’s letter and regarded it with a gloomy eye. “What this man wants is to be told to go and boil his head. If he’s got the sort that can be bothered to read twenty-five of Marigold’s novels, it’s all it’s fit for. I’d like to tell him so.”

Sally said, “We can’t!” She very nearly said, “darling” again, but stopped in time. She typed rapidly:

“How nice of you to have read so many of my books. I am so grateful to you for your kind interest. I think it is wonderful of you to spare the time.

Yours sincerely.”

She left a space for the signature, withdrew the sheet, and read it aloud.

David relaxed into a grin.

“That’s a good score! He sends her a ticking-off, and you’ve turned it into a compliment. I’d like to see his face when he gets it. He’ll be foaming.”

Sally said,

“I hope so. And now I really have got to be tactful with a woman who wants Marigold to read a book she’s written on odd bits of paper and things.”

“Is she going to read it?”

“Nobody could! I shall have to pack it up and send it back, and I really think I had better just say straight out that Marigold can’t undertake to read manuscripts, and that no publisher will look at anything unless it’s typed. You know, I really can’t think how they managed in the old days. I’ve seen manuscript pages of Scott, and Dickens, and people like that-photographs of them, that is -and I just can’t think how anyone read them.”

“You had better be quite firm about it.”

“Oh, I will.”

They were not getting along very fast, but time didn’t seem to matter any more. They talked about the letters, and all the nice ones got such warm answers that Marigold’s stock went up appreciably.

When they were nearly through, Sally suddenly stopped typing and said,

“Did you say that man’s name was Bellingdon?”

He nodded.

“Lucius Bellingdon. Why?”

“Because I was at school with his daughter. And I’ve just remembered there was something about him in the paper-no, it wasn’t a paper, it was a magazine-an article about who had the most valuable jewels-you know the kind of thing. And it said he had given his wife a most wonderful necklace which is either supposed to be the one Marie Antoinette had and there was all that fuss about it because she didn’t really order it, or else it’s a copy which was made when the original was broken up.”

David produced a frown.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you are talking about.”

“Nonsense-you must have! Everyone knows about the Affair of the Diamond Necklace. It was one of the things that brought on the French Revolution, and I don’t remember all the ins and outs about it, but it was part of a plot by a woman called Lamotte to get hold of a lot of valuable diamonds which the King’s jeweller had tried to sell him to make a necklace for the Queen, only she wouldn’t let him and said much better spend the money on a battleship. And I really do think it’s a shame that everyone remembers the silly story about her saying if the people hadn’t got enough bread to eat why didn’t they eat cake, but practically no one remembers about the battleship. Anyhow, when she wouldn’t have the necklace, the Lamotte woman persuaded Cardinal Rohan that the Queen had changed her mind, and that she really wanted it. There were a lot of forged letters which he thought were from Marie Antoinette saying she wanted him to put the matter in hand, but there mustn’t be any talk about it. Lamotte and her husband got a girl called Oliva to dress up as the Queen and give the Cardinal a secret audience in the palace gardens after dark. You wouldn’t have thought they would have dared, or that he would be such a fool as to be taken in, but he was. And then when M. Lamotte had got away with the necklace, the jeweller sent in the bill to the Queen and the whole thing came out. There was the most colossal row. Marie Antoinette said she didn’t know anything about any of it, but a lot of people didn’t believe her, and it did the Royal Family a great deal of harm.”

David had his impatient look.

“And what has it got to do with Bellingdon?”

“I told you-he gave the necklace to his wife. At least some people say it’s that one and some people say it isn’t, because the real one disappeared, or was broken up, or something. But if it isn’t the same it’s exactly like it and it’s worth goodness knows what. There was a picture of it, all festoons of diamonds looped up with big ones, and the woman who was writing about it said Mrs. Bellingdon had never worn it because of the war, and then she got ill and died. But Mr. Bellingdon is letting his daughter have it to wear at a ball he is giving at the Luxe next month. It’s a fancy dress ball, and she is going to go as Marie Antoinette. I told you we were at school together. She was a bit older, and of course even a year makes a lot of difference when it comes right in the middle of your teens, but she knows one of Marigold’s daughters and I’ve run across her a good bit lately. She got married a year or two ago, but he was killed motor-racing. I can’t say I think being Marie Antoinette with a lot of diamonds is really her line. Only I suppose most girls would rather jump at the chance. Diamonds do seem to go to people’s heads.”

David Moray frowned.

“I can’t imagine why you should take an interest in this sort of thing.”

The dimple came out again.

“Well, I do. You know, David, I’ll tell you something-just for your own good. If you ever come across a woman who isn’t interested in the sort of odds and ends that you feel all haughty and despising about, she’ll be one of the earnest ones who’ll want to run you and everything else in sight, and you’ll get so bored with her that you’ll probably end by doing her in. Because you know what it would amount to-it wouldn’t leave you anything to feel superior about, and you would hate that like poison.”

She found him looking at her in rather an odd kind of way. If it had occurred to him that there was something in what she said, he would certainly not give her the satisfaction of admitting it. And then all at once he was saying,

“Well, I’m not denying that’s a point of view. I wouldn’t say a woman was any the worse for taking an interest in what you might call the frivolities, always provided the solid stuff is there underneath-like having a good sound cake under the icing. For instance, you mightn’t have noticed it but I’ve a sense of humour myself, only I make it my business to keep it in its place.” He reached across for the last two letters. “It’s time we were getting on,” he said.