"Madeleine Linders."

"Linders!" cried Horace, suddenly enlightened; "what, is M.
Linders--" the famous gambler he had nearly said, but checked
himself--"is that tall gentleman with a beard, whom I saw in
the salon just now, your papa?"

"Yes, that is my papa. Please may I have that now?"

He put the little flexible toy into her hand, and she stood
gazing at it for a moment, almost afraid to touch it, and then
pushing it gently backwards and forwards with one finger.

"It does move!" she cried delighted. "I never saw one like it
before."

"Would you like to keep it?" asked Graham.

"Always, do you mean?--for my very own?"

"Yes, always."

"Ah, yes!" she cried, "I should like it very much. I will wear
it round my neck with a string, and love it so much, --better
than Sophie."

She looked at it with great admiration as it glittered in the
moonlight; but her next question fairly took Horace aback.

"Is it worth a great deal of money, Monsieur?" she inquired.