Who had taken the ring? Each of her guests
had had a dozen opportunities in the course of the time she had been
busy in the kitchen.
"Too much time before the mirror, dear lady," called out Flanders gaily,
who from where he was seated could see her.
"It is not he," she said quickly. Then she reconsidered. "Why not? He is
clever--who knows? Let me think."
To gain time she walked back slowly into the kitchen, her head bowed,
her thumb between her teeth.
"Who has taken it?"
She ran over the character of her guests and their situations as she
knew them. Strangely enough, at each her mind stopped upon some reason
that might explain a sudden temptation.
"I shall find out nothing this way," she said to herself after a
moment's deliberation; "that is not the important thing to me just now.
The important thing is to get the ring back."
And slowly, deliberately, she began to walk back and forth, her
clenched hand beating the deliberate rhythmic measure of her journey.
Five minutes later, as Harris, installed _en maitre_ over the chafing
dish, was giving directions, spoon in the air, Mrs.
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