"Yes," said Vine dryly, "but we shall not get over the trouble of the thief quite so well. I'm afraid these Perrows are a dishonest family. I'll speak to the girl." "No, father, leave it to me." "Very well, my child; but I think you ought to speak." The old man left the room, the bell was rung, and Liza summoned, when a scene of tears and protestations arose, resulting in a passionate declaration that Liza would tell her mother, that she would not stop in a house were she was going to be suspected, and that she had never taken anybody's money but her own. "This is the third time that I have missed money, Liza, or I would not have spoken. If you took it, confess like a good girl, and we'll forgive you if you promise never to take anything of the kind again." "I can't confess, miss, and won't confess," sobbed the girl. "Mother shall come and speak to you. I wouldn't do such a thing." "Where did you get the money with which you bought the red ribbon and orange kerchief this morning, Liza?" said a voice at the door. All started to see that Aunt Marguerite was there looking on, and apparently the recipient of all that had been said. Liza stood with eyes dilated, and jaw dropped. "Then you've been at my box," she suddenly exclaimed. "Ah, what a shame!" "At your box, you wretched creature!" said Aunt Marguerite contemptuously. "Do you suppose I should go into your room?" "You've been opening my box," said the girl again, more angrily; "and it's a shame." "I saw her take them up to her room, Louise. My dear, she was buying them under my window, of some pedlar. You had better send her away." Liza did not wait to be sent away from the room, but ran out sobbing, to hurry up-stairs to her bed-chamber, open her box, and see if the brilliant specimens of silken fabric were safe, and then cry over them till they were blotched with her tears. "A bad family," said Aunt Marguerite. "I'm quite sure that girl stole my piece of fine lace, and gave it to that wretched woman your uncle Luke encourages." "No, no, aunt, you lost that piece of lace one day when you were out." "Nonsense, child! your memory is not good. Who is that with you? Oh, I see; Miss Van Heldre." Aunt Marguerite, after suddenly becoming aware of the presence of Madelaine, made a most ceremonious curtsey, and then sailed out of the room. "Louise must be forced to give up the companionship of that wretched Dutch girl," she said as she reached her own door, at which she paused to listen to Liza sobbing. "I wonder what Miss Vine would have been like," thought Madelaine, "if she had married some good sensible man, and had a large family to well employ her mind?" Then she asked herself what kind of man she would have selected as possessing the necessary qualifications, and concluded that he should have been such a man as Duncan Leslie, and wondered whether he would marry her friend.