Major Thatcher stared blankly at the dressing-table. “Strange, ’pon my word!” he said. “So, Major Thatcher, if you don’t mind, I’ll give it back to you. I think, all things considered, it will be best for you to give it to Amelia yourself.” I went toward the dressing-table. “You don’t mind, do you?” I said, over my shoulder, as I opened the jewelry-box. “Not at all, not at all,” answered the major. “Anything to oblige a lady.” I drew out the sack of chamois-skin. “Here it is,” I said, holding it out to him. “You’ll find it in perfect condition and quite complete. I’m so sorry that we couldn’t seem to locate Amelia. Not knowing the rest of her name was rather inconvenient. There were dozens of Amelias in the directory.” The major took the sack, and put it in his breast-pocket. “Dozens of Amelias,” he repeated, slapping his pocket. “Who’d have thought it!” “We even advertised,” I continued. “Perhaps you saw the personal; it was in the morning _Herald_, and was very short and noncommittal, but no one answered it.” “We saw it,” said the major. “Yes, I recollect quite distinctly seeing it. It--it--indicated to us--aw--aw--” The major reddened and paused, pulling his mustache. “That we hadn’t found Amelia and still had the present,” I answered, in a sprightly tone. “That was just it. And so you came to get it? Very kind of you, indeed, Major Thatcher.” The major bowed. He was really a very fine-looking, well-mannered man. If he only had been the honest, respectable person we first thought him I would have liked to add him to my collection. I’m sure if you knew him better he would have been much more interesting than the bishop and the lords. “The kindness is on your side,” he said. “And now, Mrs. Kennedy, I think--I think, perhaps”--he looked at the window that gave on the balcony--“I think I’d better--” “You must be going!” I cried, just as I say it to the bishop when he puts down his cup and looks at the clock. “How unfortunate! But, of course, your other engagements--” I checked myself, suddenly realizing that it wasn’t just the thing to say to the major. When you’re talking to a burglar it doesn’t seem delicate or thoughtful to allude to his “other engagements.” That I made such a break is due to the fact that I’d never talked to a burglar before, and was bound to be a little green. The major did not seem to mind. “Exactly so,” he said. “My time is just now much occupied. I--er--I--” He looked again at the window. “I--er--entered that way,” he said, “but perhaps--” “I don’t think I’d go out that way if I were you,” I answered, hurriedly, “it would look so queer if any one saw you.” “Would the other and more usual exit be safe?” he asked. His eye, as it met mine, was charged with a keener intelligence than I had seen in it before. “It would have to be,” I answered, with spirit. “What do you suppose the servants would think if they saw you coming out of here? This, Major Thatcher, is my room.”