"I am now _tres-fatiguee_!" she cried. "_Bonsoir, mes enfants_." She left the children. They had played their little part in the present mystery and were no longer of the slightest interest to her. Brenda and Fanchon were having a fairly good time at the play, although Brenda could not get Harry Jordan to declare himself. She was rather tired now of this wayward youth. To have him desperately in love with her was one thing, but to have him negligent and with his silly thoughts elsewhere was quite another. She became downright cross when he proposed to introduce Miss Nettie Harris to her and her pupil. "I am sorry, but I cannot permit it," she said. "And why not?" asked Harry Jordan. "My dear little pupils' father is most particular whit people they associate with," was her reply. "You must understand that in the professions there is a great deal of etiquette. Mercantile people are doubtless not aware of that; but it is my duty to protect my young pupils." As Brenda spoke, she gave Fanchon a tender look, as though she were a sort of guardian angel, and Harry felt so properly snubbed that he very nearly returned to his first allegiance to Brenda. After all, she was a ripper. What style she had! Nettie Harris wasn't a patch upon her. But then Nettie Harris had a snug little fortune which might help them to marry and live in a very modest way; whereas Brenda had nothing at all but her beauty and her distinguished air and friends of the distinguished world. Yes, yes--it was a pity. Brenda had Harry rather under her thumb for the rest of the evening and went home little guessing what had befallen her. There was a letter awaiting her on the hall table from Penelope, who announced her intention of coming to spend part of the next day with her. Brenda pretended to be pleased. "We'll take her out and show her things," she said, turning to Fanchon. "Perhaps you'll let me wear the bangle," said Fanchon. "No, Fanchon; I may as well speak openly; I have made up my mind about it. I think it likely that I can arrange a little picnic for you and me, and perhaps Mr Jordan, and perhaps Mr Burbery, some day before we leave; and on that occasion you shall wear the bangle, but not before. Now don't worry me, child. Let's get into bed, both of us, as quietly as we can; it's later than usual." Fanchon was so sleepy that she was glad to comply; Brenda herself was also thoroughly weary, and dropped sound asleep the moment her head touched her pillow. But downstairs in Mrs Dawson's little parlour, a deep consultation had taken place. The real bracelet, the lost bangle, lay absolutely on Mrs Dawson's lap. She was comparing the delicate engraving with the outline of a similar engraving in Mademoiselle's notebook.