"I found Lord Monckton's monocle, Mr. Webb. Will you be so kind as to

give it to him?"

"Yes, Miss Killigrew." Absently he raised the monocle and squinted

through it. "Why, it's plain glass!" he exclaimed.

"So it is," replied Kitty, with a crooked smile. "And I dare say so

are most of the monocles we see. A silly affectation, don't you think

so?"

He was instantly up in arms. The monocle was a British institution,

and he would as soon have denied the divine right of kings as question

an Englishman's right to wear what he pleased in his eye.

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"It was originally designed for a man whose left eye was weaker than

the right. Besides, we don't notice them over there."

"I have often wondered what the wearers do when their noses itch."

"Doubtless they scratch them."

Kitty's laughter bubbled. It subsided instantly. Her hand reached

out, then dropped. She had almost said: "Thomas, what have you done

with my sapphires?" Urgent as the impulse was, she crushed it back.

For deep in her heart she wanted to believe in Thomas; wanted to

believe that it was only a mad wager such as Englishmen propose, accept

and see to the end. There was not the slightest doubt in her mind that

Thomas and Lord Monckton were the two men who had stood on the curb

that foggy night in London. One had taken the necklace and the other

had wagered he would carry it six months in America before returning it

to its owner. The Nana Sahib's ruby she attributed to a real thief,

who had known Crawford in former days and, conscience-stricken, had

returned it.

Great Britain was an empire of wagerers she knew; they wagered for and

against every conceivable thing which had its dependence on chance.

That first night on board the Celtic, when Thomas came to her cabin in

the dark, she had recognized his voice. In the light the activity of

the eye had dulled the keenness of the ear; but in the dark the ear had

found the chord. For days she had been subconsciously waiting to hear

one or the other of those voices; and Thomas' had come with a shock.

The words "Aeneid" and "Enid" had so little variation in sound between

them that Kitty had found her second man in Lord Monckton. Sooner or

later she would trap them.

"Would you like to go to the picnic this afternoon?"--with a spirit

which was wholly kind.

"Very much indeed; but I can't"--indicating the stack of papers on his

desk.

"Oh," listlessly.

"I am very poor, Miss Killigrew, and perhaps I am ambitious."




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