"Oh, let up; we're onto you! This ain't your basket and you took it, that's all there is about it. Come on!" gruffly jerked out the man at his elbow. "But where is Mrs. Trotter? I want to--I must see her." "Here I am, Digby. What is the matter?" cried a well known voice in his ear. That voice had never sounded so sweet to him, nor had its sweetness ever sounded so much like condemnation to his wretched soul. "Kate!" he gasped. "What is it?" she demanded hurriedly. "What does this man want?" The man was staring blankly at the pair, stock still with amazement. "He says I--I have been trying to steal this basket. It's our--yours, I mean, isn't it? Tell him so, Kate--quick!" cried the miserable man with the plaintive coat collar turned up about his neck. "This is our basket, sir," indignantly exclaimed Mrs. Trotter. "I know it is yours, Mrs. Trotter; I saw you buying the stuff, but--" "Don't haggle here any longer!" exclaimed Mr. Trotter, boldly now. "Let go of my arm!" "I beg your pardon, sir. If the lady says it's all right, why, it is--but you know you said your name was--" "You lie, sir!" said Digby, sternly. "I never said anything of the kind. Mrs. Trotter have you paid for this stuff?" "No--I was not through ordering, but what does all this mean, Digby?" whispered the mystified saviour, feeling herself the shame-faced centre of a group of wondering people. "Never mind now," said her husband, with dignity. "And you, sir, unpack this basket. We don't want a cent's worth of your goods." "Oh, Digby--" began Kate. "My dear Mr. Trotter,"--began the luckless attache, but Digby silenced them both by suddenly grasping his wife's arm and striding toward the door, he defiantly, conscience stricken, she bewildered beyond all hope of description. A moment later they were on the pavement and Digby was racking his brain for an explanation. How was he to account to her for his possession of that basket, even though it was hers? It did not occur to him to wonder how she came to be the owner of the coveted basket--his penniless Kate. "Digby, what did that man mean?" asked Kate, finally pulling her wits together. There was something like sternness in her voice, something like resentment, something like tears. He tried to look into her eyes; eyes which were upturned to his so anxiously, but he could not. There was something creeping up in his throat that compelled him to gulp suddenly. A rush of shamed degradation flashed over him, overwhelming him completely, and before he could prevent it his honest, contrite heart had spoken. "Little girl--God forgive me--I was trying to steal that--that basket." He felt her start and gasp and he could distinguish the horror, the shock in her eyes, although he did not see them. Her hand relaxed its clasp upon his arm and her trembling voice murmured: "Oh, Digby! Oh, Digby!"