hoose between
any two women in the dark!"

Already she was almost finished dressing, and as yet Sally hadn't had
a chance to breathe a word about her own information.

"But there's something I must tell you," she insisted, suddenly
reminded.

"About what?"

"Last night--things that happened after everybody had gone to bed. You
knew I was restless. I saw several things I haven't told you about.
You ought to know. They may clear up the mystery of the theft."

"I already know all about that," Mrs. Gosnold declared calmly.

"About Mr. Lyttleton and the boat and the signals--"

Mrs. Gosnold turned sharply from her mirror. "What's this? Why didn't
you tell me before?"

"I didn't know about the robbery, and I thought it was none of my
affair--"

"It doesn't matter." Mrs. Gosnold caught up her cloak and threw it to
the maid to adjust on her shoulders. "Whatever you saw had nothing to
do with the robbery. Don Lyttleton's a bad lot in more ways than one,
but he didn't steal my jewels last night--that I know."

"But who did?"

"I hope you may never find out."

"You know, then?"

"Positively." The lady adjusted her mask and caught her cloak about
her. "Wait here till I come back. Then you may tell me about Don
Lyttleton and the boat and the signals. I'll be as quick as I can."

She darted hurriedly away.

The wonder excited by Mrs. Gosnold's declaration that she knew the
identity of the thief--even though, the girl told herself, she had all
along suspected as much--kept Sally quiet for the next several
minutes. She was sorely tempted to question the maid, but one look at
that quiet, impassive countenance assured her that this would be
wasted breath.

Insensibly the tempo of a haunting waltz that sang clear in the night
beyond the open windows wove itself into the texture of Sally's
thoughts and set her blood tingling in response.

She recalled Trego with a recurrent glow of gratification.

Poor fellow!

One foot began to tap the floor in time to the music. She hadn't
danced once that night, had purposely avoided every chance of an
invitation to dance. And now, of a sudden, she wanted to, without
reason or excuse.

It was very curious. She wondered at herself. What had worked this
change? Was it really nothing more nor less than a declaration of love
on the part of a man she--didn't altogether like?

Though, of course, she hadn't ever been quite fair to him. He had
admirable qualities. His honesty. His