mend this." 

 "Let me see it." 

 "Oh, I couldn't think of troubling you." 

 "But I should be glad to fix it if I could. If not, I could at least hand it over to Willie's superior skill." 

 She laughed. 

 "I'm not certain whether Willie's skill is superior," was her arch retort. 

 "Why not make a test case and find out?" 

 Still she hesitated. 

 "You're afraid to trust your property to me," Bob said, piqued by her indecision. 

 "No, I'm not," was the quick response.  "See? Here is the belt." 

 She drew from her pocket a narrow strip of white leather to which a handsome silver buckle was attached and placed it in his hand. 

 He took it, inspected its fastening and looked with beating pulse at the girdle's slender span. 

 "Do you think it can be mended?" she inquired anxiously. 

 "Of course it can." 

 "Oh, I'm so glad!" 

 "Give me a few days and you shall have it back as good as new." 

 "That will be splendid!"  Her eyes shone with starry brightness.  "You see," she went on, "it was given me on my birthday by my—my—by some one I care a great deal for—by my—" she stopped, embarrassed. 

 Robert Morton was too well mannered to put into words the interrogation that trembled on his lips, but he might as well have done so, so transparent was the questioning glance that traveled to her left hand in search of the telltale solitaire. Even though his search was not rewarded, he felt certain that the hand concealed in the 

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