"It is a perfect torment," I exclaimed, trying to wrench the long silk fringe from the links in which it had become hopelessly twisted. "It catches in everything." "Then why do you wear it, may I ask?" said Mr. Rutledge, coolly. "Only because I cannot help myself." "Can't I assist you?" asked Victor, who had followed me. "Very possibly," said Mr. Rutledge. "It is rather a delicate affair and requires patience, more, I confess, than I have at command." "And some strength. Can't you break this thing, Mr. Viennet? I cannot unclasp it, and it annoys me beyond endurance." "I have no doubt that Mr. Viennet can," said Mr. Rutledge, laying the arm, bracelet, and entangled fringe in Victor's hand. He tried in vain for a moment to disengage the fringe or unclasp the bracelet, while Grace drawled, "I advise you to hurry, Mr. Viennet; my cousin bites her lip as if she were desperately angry." "I cannot break it," said Victor, "without hurting you, of course." "No matter for that! I am so anxious to have it off, that I should not mind a little pain." Victor shook his head. "Do not ask me to do it." "Perhaps I should be less tender," said Mr. Rutledge, bending over it again, and the frail links yielded instantly to the vice-like grasp of his strong hand. A cry escaped me as the bracelet snapped, and fell on the ground at my feet. "You are hurt!" exclaimed Victor, starting forward and catching my hand over which the blood from the wrist was trickling. "It is nothing," I said, pulling it away, and wrapping my shawl around it. "It is only scratched a little." "Not very deep, I fancy," said Mr. Rutledge; while Grace, shrugging her shoulders, exclaimed, as she entered the house: "Well! you are the oddest set of people! All three of you as pale as ashes, and as much in earnest as if it were a matter of life and death! Mr. Rutledge, I shall coax you to tell me all about it."