"I keep a mean secret!" I says.
"Well," says Abigail smilingly, "I have engaged Mr. Thurston to catch the thief and solve the mystery of my missing necklace. What do you think of that?"
"I don't think you could have engaged anyone who knows more about it!" I says, with deliberate significance.
Abby checks a smile, frowns and looks at me queerly. "Just what do you mean by that remark?"
"Why—er—I mean—er—I think Mr. Thurston is just the man to cope with a mystery of this kind," I told her, covering up. "But he's quite expensive, isn't he?"
This time Abigail's face was just the background for a large, happy grin.
"Mr. Thurston's services are not costing me a penny!" she simpers. "Not one penny. You see—I—we—oh, congratulate me, girlie, we're engaged!"
Good night!
"Do you actually mean to tell me that big—er—that Mr. Thurston has proposed marriage to you?" I asked, in a faint voice.
Abigail saw that I was a bit upset over the news, but she misguessed the reason.
"There, there—don't be downcast, dearie," she says soothingly. "I know all you girls must have had fond hopes in Oliver's direction, he's so thrillingly hand-
