"I think Mrs. Dawson might have asked her to her show; leaving one out is always so pointed."
"But it was intended to be pointed. Mrs. Dawson was so afraid of having her gowns copied," pleaded her friend.
"Not much to copy now, is there?" retorted Mrs. Rattray; "and is it not strange that they have no suspicions, and no clue?"
"No, neither the one nor the other," rejoined Mrs. Jones, shaking her head solemnly. But Mrs. Jones was mistaken; there was a clue had Mrs. Wilkinson's ayah suffered it to pass from her hands.
For one whole morning the dirzee's scissors were nowhere to be found, and a dirzee, minus his scissors, is as a dragon without his horse.
Kadir Bux called upon all his gods to witness that he had left them in his basket the previous day. Who, then, had taken them? At last, after much loud talk, and an exhaustive search, the scissors were discovered under a fashion book in the drawing-room, and, behold! there was a tiny scrap of lemon satin stuck fast between the blades.
Then the ayah, who had unearthed them, looked Angel straight in the eyes, and cried, "O child of the devil!"
But she put the tell-tale scrap into the cook-house fire,—and held her tongue.