belonged, most palpably, to a German lady three feet ahead of him,
but gripping it triumphantly, he bounded over the six feet which
separated him from the Eversham-Beecher triangle and with marvelous
self-restraint he touched Miss Eversham on the arm.

"You dropped this?" he inquired.

Miss Eversham looked surprisedly at Billy and uncertainly at the
shawl, which she mechanically accepted. "Why I--I didn't remember
having it with me," she hesitated.

"I noticed you were wearing one other evenings," said Billy, the
Artful, "so I thought----"

"You know whether this is yours or not, don't you, Clara?"
interposed the mother.

"They all look alike," murmured Clara Eversham, eying helplessly the
silver border.

Billy permitted himself to look at Miss Beecher. That young person
was looking at him and there was a disconcerting gaiety in her
expression, but at sight of him she turned her head, faintly
coloring. He judged she recalled his unmannerly eavesdropping that
afternoon.

"Pardon--excuse me--but that is to me belonging," panted an agitated
but firm voice behind them, and two stout and beringed hands seized
upon the glittering shawl in Miss Eversham's lax grasp. "It but just
now off me falls," and the German lady looked belligerent accusation