Lettice laughed. “Because I am so shallow, I suppose. I remember being thankful that I had that particular piece of finery, because it was so strong, and not like some of my others made of a lighter and more gauzy material. You see how I could let my thoughts run on dress, even in that desperate hour. I tell you I am only a butterfly.” “But you are not. You weep like a baby over the smallest thing, when it is weak and silly to do so, and you prink and coquet and parade your dress, but at heart you are brave and loyal, and have the greatest amount of endurance. I cannot make you out.” “No more can I you. I am a piece of vanity, and when there is anything to be gained by showing a brave front I can do it well enough; at other times I simply let myself go, and if I feel like crying I cry, when there is anybody around to pet me and make much of me, even if it is only Mammy.” Then she suddenly became grave. “Did you know that the papers were found? Or rather, they have been returned.” Rhoda started. “You don’t mean it!” “I do.” “Who returned them?” “My maid, Lutie.” “Was she the thief?” “No, I think,--I am quite positive, she was not. She says they were given to her to deliver to my brother.” “By whom?” “She does not tell. By the way, I promised my brother William that I would try to fathom the matter. Rhoda, where is Mr. Clinton?” Rhoda did not answer for a moment; then she said: “You still suspect him? Do you mean me to infer that you believe it was he who gave Lutie the papers?” “I don’t know what to think. I would rather fasten my suspicions on some one else, for more reasons than one.” “What reasons?” “I would rather be sure the papers had not been copied.” “You believe he would do such a thing as that? I do not. I have more faith in him than you, Lettice.” “Yet you do not love him.” “Have I said I do not?” “No, but I know it. I know one cannot love two men at the same time.” “Lettice, you presume.” “Do I? I don’t mean to; but--Ah well, Rhoda, we are but girls, and we are on the lookout for signs that escape others whose thoughts are not on romances.” “And you think you have read signs in me? Am I such a telltale, then?” “Far from it. You are unusually wary. But Rhoda, do you know that Jamie leaves us to-day?” The color mounted slowly to Rhoda’s face, tingeing even her ears with red. Lettice leaned over and said mockingly, as she possessed herself of Rhoda’s hand, “A sign, Rhoda! A sign! What does that blush mean?” Rhoda bit her lip, but did not raise her eyes. “Our bonny Jamie,” sighed Lettice. “Ah me, I hope God will spare him. I hope, O I hope--Oh, Rhoda, what if he should be going, never to return.” “Don’t!” cried Rhoda, in a sharp, quick voice. And then she snatched her hand from Lettice and, covering her face, sobbed in a convulsive, tearless way.