evidently at its height. There were
at least a dozen people in the room, most of whom were standing up. The
central figure of them all was Mrs. Fitzgerald, large and florid, whose
yellow hair with its varied shades frankly admitted its indebtedness to
peroxide; a lady of the dashing type, who had once made her mark in the
music-halls, but was now happily married to a commercial traveler who
was seldom visible. Mrs. Fitzgerald was talking.

"In respectable boarding-houses, Mrs. Lawrence," she declared with
great emphasis, "thefts may sometimes take place, I will admit, in the
servants' quarters, and with all their temptations, poor things, it's
not so much to be wondered at. But no such thing as this has ever
happened to me before--to have jewelry taken almost from my person in
the drawing-room of what should be a well-conducted establishment. Not a
servant in the room, remember, from the moment I took it off until I got
up from the piano and found it missing. It's your guests you've got to
look after, Mrs. Lawrence, sorry to say it though I am."

Mrs. Lawrence managed here, through sheer loss of breath on the part of
her assailant, to interpose a tearful protest.

"I am quite sure," she protested feebly, "that there is not a person
in this house who would dream of stealing anything, however valuable it
was. I am most particular always about references."

"Valuable, indeed!" Mrs. Fitzgerald continued with increased volubility.
"I'd have you understand that I am not one of those who wear trumpery
jewelry. Thirty-five guineas that bracelet cost me if it cost a penny,
and if my husband were only at home I could show you the receipt."

Then there came an interruption of almost tragical interest. Mrs.
Fitzgerald, her mouth still open, her stream of eloquence suddenly
arrested, stood with her artificially darkened eyes riveted upon the
stolid, self-composed figure in the doorway. Every one else was gazing
in the same direction. Tavernake was holding the bracelet in the palm of
his hand.

"Thirty-five guineas!" he repeated. "If I had known that it was worth as
much as that, I do not think that I should have dared to touch it."

"You--you took it!" Mrs. Fitzgerald gasped.

"I am afraid," he admitted, "that it was rather a clumsy joke. I
apologize, Mrs. Fitzgerald. I hope you did not really imagine that it
had been stolen."

One was conscious of the little thrill of emotion which marked the
termination of the episode.