Mrs. Kildair
in the kitchen ransacked the ice box, and with her own hands chopped the
_fines herbes_, shredded the chicken and measured the cream.
"Flanders, carry this in carefully," she said, her hands in a towel.
"Cheever, stop watching your wife and put the salad bowl on the table.
Everything ready, Harris? All right. Every one sit down. I'll be right
in."
She went into her bedroom, and divesting herself of her apron hung it in
the closet. Then going to her dressing table she drew the hatpin from
the pincushion and carelessly slipped the rings on her fingers. All at
once she frowned and looked quickly at her hand. Only two rings were
there, the third ring, the one with the sapphire and the two diamonds,
was missing.
"Stupid," she said to herself, and returned to her dressing table. All
at once she stopped. She remembered quite clearly putting the pin
through the three rings.
She made no attempt to search further, but remained without moving, her
fingers drumming slowly on the table, her head to one side, her lip
drawn in a little between her teeth, listening with a frown to the
babble from the outer room.
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