, and she said it should never leave her
day nor night."

"Oh," cried Julia, "that I never did. I can not afford to stop my
circulation altogether; it's much too little." Then she flew at him
suddenly. "Your ancestors were pigmies."

Percy drew himself up to his full height, and defied the insinuation.
"They were giants, in chain armor," said he.

"What," said Julia, without a moment's hesitation, "the ladies? Or was it
the knights that wore bracelets?"

Some French writer says, "The tongue of a woman is her sword," and Percy
Fitzroy found it so. He could no more answer this sudden thrust than he
could win the high leap at Lillie Bridge. He stood quivering as if a
polished rapier had really been passed clean through him.

Mary was too kind-hearted to laugh in his face, but she could not help
turning her head away and giggling a little.

At last Percy recovered himself enough to say,

"The truth is you have gone and given it to somebody else."

"Oh, you wicked--bad-hearted--you that couldn't be jealous!"

By this time Percy was himself again, and said, with some reason, that
"invectives were not arguments. Produce the bracelet."

"And so I can," said Julia, stoutly. "Give me time."

"Oh," said Percy, "if it's a mere question of time, there is no more to
be said. You'll find the bracelet in time, and in time I shall feel once
more that confidence in you which induced me to confide to you as to
another self that precious family relic, which I value more than any
other material object in the world." Then Percy, whose character seemed
to have changed, retired with stiff dignity and an air of indomitable
resolution.

Neither Julia nor Mary had ever seen him like that before. Julia was
unaffectedly distressed.

"Oh, Mary, why did I ever lend it to you?"

Now Mary knew very well where the bracelet was, but she was ashamed to
say; she stammered and said, "You know, dear, it is too small, much too
small, and my arm is bigger than yours."

"There!" said Julia; "you have broken the clasp!"

Mary colored up to the eyes at her own disingenuousness, and said,
hastily, "But I'll have it mended directly; I'll return it to-morrow at
the latest."

"I shall be wretched till you do," said Julia, eagerly. "I suppose you
know what I want it for now?"

"Why," said Mary, "of course I do: to soothe his wounded feelings."

"Soothe _his_ feelings!" cried Julia, scornfully; "and how about mine?
No; the only thing I want it f