"Nothing of the kind," said Mabel shortly. "I only left it out on my toilet-table while I washed my hands before dressing for dinner yesterday, and, forgetting to put it on again, thought no more about it till this morning; but I've been hunting for it high and low since I got up, and it's not be found."
"What can have become of it?" said Nicholas, helping himself to marmalade. "It can't have really gone, you know; the servants are all honest."
"The old ones are, I daresay," rejoined Mabel; "but, to tell you the truth, Nick, I have something more than a suspicion of how my ring has gone, and of who has taken it, too."
"Dear me! Really?" said Nicholas indifferently. "Give me some more coffee, Mab, will you?"
"You don't care a little bit for my annoyance and vexation, Nick," said Mabel. "If you truly loved me, you—"
Nicholas made a gesture of angry impatience, which nipped her tirade in the bud, and she stopped short.
"I have had all that so often before, Mab," said he wearily, "that I confess I am sick of it. I'm sorry you have lost your ring—that is, if it is lost, which I doubt. But one ring more or less won't matter to you;" and he glanced somewhat contemptuously at the white hands, which were too heavily jewelled for those of a young girl.
For the rest of the meal, Mabel was silent,—"in the sulks," Nicholas called it; and he was not sorry, for her conversation provoked him nearly always nowadays, and any mood was better than a talkative one.
"Such a misfortune, auntie!" said Mabel, when she went to Mrs. Beach's room after breakfast.
The old lady was not yet up, and her eyes were very heavy as though she had slept but little.