"If I possessed a diamond pin I might be, but as I haven't such a thing I couldn't be vexed," her aunt said.
Mary jumped to her feet, startled out of her usual reserve.
"But, Aunt Ada, you did have one!"
"When, please? You must nave dreamed it, Mary, dear."
"But you did have. Oh, do you mean you know it is lost?"
It was Miss Ada's turn to look surprised. "What do you mean, child?" she said knitting her brows. "I never had a diamond pin to my knowledge. I always liked diamond rings, and I have two or three of those, but a pin I never possessed. What are you talking about?"
Mary laced and unlaced her fingers nervously. "I mean the one you lent me to wear the night we dressed up for the party at Green Island. Was it some other person's, then? Oh, Aunt Ada, had some one lent it to you, for if they did"—she faltered, "I lost it coming home." She sank down at Miss Ada's feet on the mossy ground and buried her face in her aunt's lap.
Miss Ada put a kind hand on her head. "And all this time you have been distressing yourself about it, you poor little kitten? I ought to have told you, but you were so pleased in thinking it was real I thought I would let it go, and I have not thought of it since. Why, dear, it was of no value at all, a mere trumpery little rhinestone that cost only a couple of dollars."
Mary lifted her tearful eyes. "Oh, I am so relieved," she said. "I've searched and searched for it ever since."
"Yes, Aunt Ada, and she has been nearly sick over it," put in Molly. "She cried herself to sleep last night, and the reason she wouldn't go sailing with us the other day was because she wanted to hunt for the pin."