ounding strange to our excited ears.

I made haste to forestall Sinclair, who was racking his brains for words
with which to propound the question he dared not put too boldly.

"Pardon me, Mr. Armstrong, we were looking about for a small pin dropped
by Miss Camerden." (How hard it was for me to use her name in this
connection only my own heart knew.) "She was in here just now, was she
not?"

The courteous gentleman bowed, hemmed, and smiled a very polite but
unmeaning smile. Evidently he had not the remotest notion whether she
had been in or not.

"I am sorry, but I am afraid I lost myself for a moment on that lounge,"
he admitted. "The firelight always makes me sleepy. But if I can help
you," he cried, starting forward, but almost immediately pausing again
and giving us rather a curious look. "Some one was in the room. I
remember it now. It was just before the warmth and glow of the fire
became too much for me. I cannot say that it was Miss Camerden, however.
I thought it was some one of quicker movement. She made quite a rattle
with the chairs."

I purposely did not look back at Sinclair.

"Miss Murray?" I suggested.

Mr. Armstrong made one of his low, old-fashioned bows. This, I doubt
not, was out of deference to the bride-to-be.

"Does Miss Murray wear white to-night?"

"Yes," muttered Sinclair, coming hastily forward.

"Then it may have been she, for as I lay there deciding whether or not
to yield to the agreeable somnolence I felt creeping over me, I caught a
glimpse of the lady's skirt as she passed out. And that skirt was
white--white silk I suppose you call it. It looked very pretty in the
firelight."

Sinclair, turning on his heel, stalked in a dazed way toward the door.
To cover this show of abruptness, which was quite unusual on his part,
I made the effort of my life, and, remarking lightly, "She must have
been here looking for the pin her friend has lost," I launched forth
into an impromptu dissertation on one of the subjects I knew to be dear
to the heart of the bookworm before me--and kept it up, too, till I saw
by his brightening eye and suddenly freed manner that he had forgotten
the insignificant episode of a minute ago, never in all probability to
recall it again. Then I made another effort, and released myself with
something like deftness from the long-drawn-out argument I saw
impending, and making for the door in my turn, glanced about for
Sinclair. So far as I was concerned the questi