had gone in the duke’s carriage and looked to her mother to follow her. And having thus thrown both parties on a false scent, she had put on her hat and walked quietly out of the hotel. But, then, where had she walked to? My chain of inference was broken by that missing link. I looked up at the waiter. And then I cursed my carelessness. For the waiter’s eyes were no longer fixed on my face, but were fastened in eloquent curiosity on the red box which lay on my table. To my apprehensive fancy the Cardinal’s Necklace seemed to glitter through the case. That did not of course happen; but a jewel case is easy to recognize, and I knew in a moment that the waiter discerned the presence of precious stones. Our eyes met. In my puzzle I could do nothing but smile feebly and apologetically. The waiter smiled also—but his was a smile of compassion and condolence. He took a step nearer to me, and with infinite sympathy in his tone observed:
“Ah, well, sir, do not despair! A gentleman like you will soon find another lady to value the present more.”
In spite of my vanity—and I was certainly not presenting myself in a very triumphant guise to the waiter’s imagination—I jumped at the mistake.
“They are capricious creatures!” said I with a shrug. “I’ll trouble myself no more about them.”
“You’re right, sir, you’re right. It’s one one day, and another another. It’s a pity, sir, to waste thought on them—much more, good
