“No, he couldn’t have. I bought the violets at Small’s, took them with me in my motor, and on a side street opened the box and slipped the bracelet over the stems, where you couldn’t fail to see it. I left the box at your house myself.” Janet looked at him queerly. “Ah, indeed; and with which member of the household did you leave it?” “I gave it to Perkins, and he promised to deliver it to you immediately on your return.” “He never gave it to me.” Tom rose. “I’ll go straight up to your house and ask him for it.” “No, no.” She laid a restraining hand on his sword-hilt. “He is probably in bed by now; mother’s so thoughtful for her servants, she lets them retire early when I’m out with Duncan; he always has his latchkey. I’ll ask Perkins first thing in the morning.” “And will you let me know the results?” Tom resumed his seat. “I shall be on tenter-hooks until I know the bracelet is safely in your hands. I feel responsible, you know; if it’s lost....” “Nonsense,” noting his worried air. “Bracelets have disappeared before; don’t take it to heart.” “Can you tell me which jewelry shop it came from----?” It was some moments before she replied. “It was an antique.” Tom’s heart grew heavy again. At every question he ran into a blank wall. How was he ever to disprove Representative J. Calhoun-Cooper’s absurd statement unless he had something tangible to work on. The bracelet was surely bewitched by some evil genius. “An antique? That’s hard luck,” he answered finally. “If it is really lost through my carelessness in trusting a servant, I shall want to replace it....” “You mustn’t think of such a thing,” vehemently. “Oh, but I insist. You draw the design and I’ll have it made.” “I shouldn’t think of letting you go to all that expense,” protested Janet. “To think I made you lose an ornament you value!” groaned Tom. “I, who would move heaven and earth to spare you the slightest....” but Janet never waited for him to complete the sentence; she had caught sight of Chichester Barnard standing in the doorway talking to Mrs. Walbridge. His back was turned to them; it was just possible that he had not seen that she was with Tom. She sprang to her feet. “Do forgive me,” she whispered hurriedly. “Marjorie has just waved to me; I must go. Please don’t follow me.” And before the startled officer could even get to his feet she had darted across the floor and out of the room, and brought up breathless beside Mrs. Walbridge. “No sign of late hours in these rosy cheeks,” commented the latter, touching Janet’s scarlet face with her gloved finger. “She needs no beauty sleep.” “Indeed, no,” agreed Barnard. “But I’m going to be selfish enough to ask Miss Janet to sit out a dance with me,” laying his hand with an air of possession on her arm which enlightened sentimental Mrs. Walbridge. “Run along,” she directed, interrupting Janet’s hasty protests. “I was young once myself. Don’t bother to wait for me. My husband will get me some fruit punch.”