Miss Driscoll and four other young ladies of her own station in
life had formed themselves, some two years before, into a coterie
of five, called The Inseparables. They lunched together, rode
together, visited together. So close was the bond and their
mutual dependence so evident, that it came to be the custom to
invite the whole five whenever the size of the function warranted
it. In fact, it was far from an uncommon occurrence to see them
grouped at receptions or following one another down the aisles of
churches or through the mazes of the dance at balls or
assemblies. And no one demurred at this, for they were all
handsome and attractive girls, till it began to be noticed that,
coincident with their presence, some article of value was found
missing from the dressing-room or from the tables where wedding
gifts were displayed. Nothing was safe where they went, and
though, in the course of time, each article found its way back to
its owner in a manner as mysterious as its previous abstraction,
the scandal grew and, whether with good reason or bad, finally
settled about the person of Miss Driscoll, who was the showiest,
least pecuniarily tempted, and most dignified in manner and
speech of them all.

Some instances had been given by way of further enlightenment.
This is one: A theatre party was in progress. There were twelve
in the party, five of whom were the Inseparables. In the course of
the last act, another lady--in fact, their chaperon--missed her
handkerchief, an almost priceless bit of lace. Positive that she
had brought it with her into the box, she caused a careful
search, but without the least success. Recalling certain whispers
she had heard, she noted which of the five girls were with her in
the box. They were Miss Driscoll, Miss Hughson, Miss Yates, and