nds away when the clerk suddenly whispered in her
ear, "I miss one of the rings." Dismayed beyond speech, she turned and
consulted the faces of her four companions who stared back at her with
immovable serenity. But one of them was paler than usual, and this lady
(it was Miss Driscoll) held her hands in her muff and did not offer to
take them out. Miss Yates, whose father had completed a big "deal" the
week before, wheeled round upon the clerk. "Charge it! charge it at its
full value," said she. "I buy both the rings."

And in three weeks the purloined ring came back to her, in a box of
violets with no name attached.

The third instance was a recent one, and had come to Mr. Driscoll's
ears directly from the lady suffering the loss. She was a woman of
uncompromising integrity, who felt it her duty to make known to this
gentleman the following facts: She had just left a studio reception, and
was standing at the curb waiting for a taxicab to draw up, when a small
boy--a street arab--darted toward her from the other side of the street,
and thrusting into her hand something small and hard, cried breathlessly
as he slipped away, "It's yours, ma'am; you dropped it." Astonished, for
she had not been conscious of any loss, she looked down at her treasure
trove and found it to be a small medallion which she sometimes wore on
a chain at her belt. But she had not worn it that day, nor any day for
weeks. Then she remembered. She had worn it a month before to a similar
reception at this same studio. A number of young girls had stood about
her admiring it--she remembered well who they were; the Inseparables,
of course, and to please them she had slipped it from its chain.
Then something had happened,--something which diverted her attention
entirely,--and she had gone home without the medallion; had, in fact,
forgotten it, only to recall its loss now. Placing it in her bag,
she looked hastily about her. A crowd was at her back; nothing to be
distinguished there. But in front, on the opposite side of the street,
stood a club-house, and in one of its windows she perceived a solitary
figure looking out. It was that of Miss Driscoll's father. He could
imagine her conclusion.

In vain he denied all knowledge of the matter. She told him other
stories which had come to her ears of thefts as mysterious, followed
by restorations as peculiar as this one, finishing with, "It is your
daughter, and people are beginning to say so."

And Miss Str