burglar broke in by night and walked off with my silver combs and brushes. At last I said, rather lamely and stiffly:

"At any rate, Susan, you've got something on your mind."

"At any rate, Susan, you've got something on your mind."

Susan did not reply.

Susan did not reply.

"What is it?" I asked.  "Or rather, who is it?"

"What is it?" I asked.  "Or rather, who is it?"

Susan's breath came and went more quickly. But still she did not answer.

Susan's breath came and went more quickly. But still she did not answer.

I turned over the possibilities in my mind, and then put a question pointblank.

I turned over the possibilities in my mind, and then put a question pointblank.

"Is it Gibson?"

"Is it Gibson?"

"Oh, no, Miss, not Gibson."  Her response was prompt, decisive, almost reproachful.

"Oh, no, Miss, not Gibson."  Her response was prompt, decisive, almost reproachful.

"I'm rather sorry," I said.  "Gibson's a thoroughly decent, steady young fellow, and he will get on. I hope it's nobody worse than Gibson."

"I'm rather sorry," I said.  "Gibson's a thoroughly decent, steady young fellow, and he will get on. I hope it's nobody worse than Gibson."

"Oh, no, Miss," said Susan swiftly and softly, "Not worse than Gibson."

"Oh, no, Miss," said Susan swiftly and softly, "Not worse than Gibson."

As she did not offer the swain's name, or an account of his person, or any further 

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