“What is it, love?”
Another rush of tears; then her head nestled in her father’s bosom.
“What has happened?” he asked, in real anxiety looking to his wife.
“Well, I always knew something was wrong about him, and how very presumptuous he was; but I never did suppose he would descend to such a low, crim—”
“Mamma! oh! don’t, pray!” sobbed Alice.
“He! Who? What is it?” asked Mr. St. James, growing more and more anxious.
“Well, your great favorite, Mr. Clifton, was here at noon, to take leave of Alice, before leaving for Scotland. We were about going out shopping when he came; so of course were detained. I drew off my gloves, and laid them, with my porte-monnaie, handkerchief and sunshade, on the center table. I saw him take up the porte-monnaie, and look at it; I thought just admiring it. You know it was that pearl and inlaid one you gave me at Christmas. Well, after a little while I went into the next room, immediately returning when I heard him about leaving. I bade him good-by in the hall, and proceeded to draw on my gloves again, intending to go on our proposed excursion. I missed the porte-monnaie; but, thinking Alice had put it in her pocket, I was not anxious. When she was again ready to start, I said:
“ ‘You have the money?’
“ ‘No,’ she replied.
“We began to look about, but our hunt was in vain. You can readily arrive at the conclusion, and the cause of Alice’s mortification and grief,” said Mrs. St. James, in a manner and tone that looked and sounded very much like she was rather glad of it.