The young lady had a will of her own, and sat down, it might be for the night, in her chair again.
"As to knowing, my dear, I really know nothing; but I have my suspicions."
"H-m!" said Margaret, for a moment dropping her eyes to the table, so that only their long silken fringes were visible. Then she raised them once more gravely to her kinswoman's face. "Yes, I will know what you suspect."
"Well, I think that handsome young man, Mr. Cleve Verney, is at the bottom of the mystery," said Miss Sheckleton, with the same smile.
Again the young lady dropped her eyes, and was for a moment silent. "Was she pleased or dis-pleased? Proud and sad her face looked.
"There's no one here to tell him that I lost my poor little squirrel. It's quite impossible—the most unlikely idea imaginable."
"I told him on Sunday," said Miss Sheckleton, smiling.
"He had no business to talk about me."
"Why, dear, unless he was a positive brute, he could not avoid asking for you; so I told him you were désolé about your bereavement—your poor little Whisk, and he seemed so sorry and kind; and I'm perfectly certain he got these little animals to supply its place."
"And so has led me into taking a present?" said the young lady, a little fiercely—"he would not have taken that liberty——"