But it was evident that Agatha had chanced on the collar that Belwether thought he saw somebody else examining.
She turned, and looked at the dead-white neck of the girl.

The collar was wonderful--a miracle of pale fire.

And Sylvia, musing, let her thoughts run on, dreamy eyes brooding.

She was glad that Agatha's means permitted her now to have such things.

It had been understood, for some years, that the Caithness fortune was in rather an alarming condition.
Howard had been able recently to do a favour or two for old Peter Caithness.