ound a mark, and dropped the handkerchief on the
stones.

"Of course not," he said, and laughed. "Stupid of me, when I hadn't been
in the stables."

Dixon Mallaby picked it up.

"Tis t'yoong wumman's," objected Bandy-legs. "Dropped un inside,
stablin' t' 'osses."

But the parson put the handkerchief in his pocket.

"I am acquainted with Miss Bunce," he said. "Perhaps I shall see them
again."

With a feeling which he found unreasonable, that he had protected a good
woman from a bad man, Mr. Dixon Mallaby went to the dressing-room in
"The Royal George."

Out of Melchard's sight, he examined the handkerchief--a lady's, marked
with the embroidered initials A.C., and it struck him, once more with a
sense of unreason, not only that the beastly dentist had discovered that
these letters did not stand for Araminta Bunce, but that he knew the
names which they were here intended to represent.

CHAPTER XIX.

SAPPHIRE AND EMERALD.

"What is it?" asked Amaryllis, as Dick turned to a shout, waving his
hand.

"I don't want to know what he wants, so I take his antics for good byes.
Come on--let's get into the thick of this lot."

"Was he suspicious?" she asked, when a bend in the road had hidden "The
Royal George" and even the village green.

"Melchard? Yes--on general principles. No more than that--unless----"

"There's that cut on your cheek, Dick," said Amaryllis.

"And there's the colour of your hair, la-ass," he answered, laughing.

"He never saw under the bonnet," and she whisked the pig-tail forward
over her shoulder. "Look at that," she said.

"How did you make it that common brown?" he asked, astonished.

"Mother Brundage," said Amaryllis, "greased her hands from the
frying-pan and rubbed it down hand over hand as if she were hoisting a
sail. The Marquis of Ontario," she said, "would _know_ I wasn't his
daughter, with that-coloured hair."

"Then why did you go all to pieces," asked Dick, "at the sound of
Melchard's voice?"

"It was that frightful man made me feel queer. Just as I was getting
better, I heard Melchard, and I thought the best place for my
aristocratic nose was on my daddy's shoulder. Dick!" she cried, looking
up at his solemn face, "I really couldn't help feeling bad."

"Most girls 'd've fainted. You're clever as paint," he said, "you turn
your two-spots into aces, and leave him in baulk every time. Poor,
shaking kid! And I'd brandy in my pocket, and couldn't give it to you!"
H