hateful to me. She was not far from my own
daughter's age and, had it not been for her furtive look of care,
appeared almost as blooming and bright. Would it ever come to pass that
a harsh man of the law would feel it his duty to speak to my Flora as I
must now speak to the young girl before me? The thought made me inwardly
recoil and it was in as gentle a manner as possible that I made my bow
and began with the following remark:

"I hope you will pardon me, Miss Glover--I am told that is your name. I
hate to disturb your pleasure--" (this with the tears of alarm and grief
rising in her eyes) "but you can tell me something which will greatly
simplify my task and possibly put matters in such shape that you and
your friends can be released to your homes."

"I?"

She stood before me with amazed eyes, the color rising in her cheeks. I
had to force my next words, which, out of consideration for her, I made
as direct as possible.

"Yes, miss. What was the article you were seen to pick up from the
driveway soon after leaving your carriage?"

She started, then stumbled backward, tripping in her long train.

"I pick up?" she murmured. Then with a blush, whether of anger or pride
I could not tell, she coldly answered: "Oh, that was something of my
own,--something I had just dropped. I had rather not tell you what it
was."

I scrutinized her closely. She met my eyes squarely, yet not with just
the clear light I should, remembering Flora, have been glad to see
there.

"I think it would be better for you to be entirely frank," said I. "It
was the only article known to have been picked up from the driveway
after Mr. Deane's loss of the ruby; and though we do not presume to say
that it was the ruby, yet the matter would look clearer to us all if
you would frankly state what this object was."

Her whole body seemed to collapse and she looked as if about to sink.

"Oh, where is Minnie? Where is Mr. Deane?" she moaned, turning and
staring at the door, as if she hoped they would fly to her aid. Then, in
a burst of indignation which I was fain to believe real, she turned on
me with the cry: "It was a bit of paper which I had thrust into the
bosom of my gown. It fell out--"

"Your dressmaker's bill?" I intimated.

She stared, laughed hysterically for a moment, then sank upon a near-by
sofa, sobbing spasmodically.

"Yes," she cried, after a moment; "my dressmaker's bill. You seem to
know all my affairs." Then suddenly, and w