Miss Benedict. Miss West sat in the box adjoining.

A fortnight later this handkerchief reappeared--and where? Among
the cushions of a yellow satin couch in her own drawing-room. The
Inseparables had just made their call and the three who had sat
on the couch were Miss Driscoll, Miss Hughson, and Miss Benedict.

The next instance seemed to point still more insistently toward
the lady already named. Miss Yates had an expensive present to
buy, and the whole five Inseparables went in an imposing group to
Tiffany's. A tray of rings was set before them. All examined and
eagerly fingered the stock out of which Miss Yates presently
chose a finely set emerald. She was leading her friends away when
the clerk suddenly whispered in her ear, "I miss one of the
rings." Dismayed beyond speech, she turned and consulted the
faces of her four companions who stared back at her with
immovable serenity. But one of them was paler than usual, and
this lady (it was Miss Driscoll) held her hands in her muff and
did not offer to take them out. Miss Yates, whose father had
completed a big "deal" the week before, wheeled round upon the
clerk. "Charge it! charge it at its full value," said she. "I buy
both the rings."

And in three weeks the purloined ring came back to her, in a box
of violets with no name attached.

The third instance was a recent one, and had come to Mr.
Driscoll's ears directly from the lady suffering the loss. She
was a woman of uncompromising integrity, who felt it her duty to
make known to this gentleman the following facts: She had just