as a present, whether I could find something that would not actually
disgrace me. I never could. He evidently felt the same way. The Wilsons
make a great to-do about the house having been entered, and tell you how
he must have been frightened away,--frightened away by the hideousness
of their things! Those woolly paintings on wood, and the black satin
parasol that turns out to be an umbrella stand."

"My dear Florence," said her brother mildly, "how can a black satin
parasol be an umbrella-stand?"

"Exactly, Geof, how can it? That is what you say all through the
Wilsons' house. How can it be! However it is not really black satin,
only painted to resemble it. The waste paper baskets look like trunks of
trees, and the match boxes like old shoes. Nothing in the house is
really what it looks like, except the beds; they look uncomfortable, and
some one who had stayed there told me that they were."

"Dear Florence," said Mrs. Vaughan, "is it not like her kindness of
heart--it runs in the family--to try and make my burglary into a
compliment, but really though it is flattering to be robbed by a
connoisseur I could forego the honour. You see you have taken away my
last hope that my very best escaped his attention."

"No, indeed, the best is all he cared for. Honestly, Jane, haven't you
an admiration for a man of so much taste and ability? Just think, he has
entered four houses and there is not the slightest trace of him."

"There must be _traces_ of him," said Geoffrey. "The Inness house was
entered after that snow storm in the early part of the month. There must
have been footprints."