126 The Real Charlotte. 



at the double horse-shoes as she appraised its value. She 

 never thought of it as being real — Francie was not at all 

 above an effective imitation — and she glanced inside to see 

 what the mark might be. There was the eighteen-carat 

 mark sure enough, and there also was Francie's name and 

 the date, July ist, 189 — . A moment's reflection enabled 

 Charlotte to identify this as the day of the yacht accident, 

 and another moment sufficed for her to determine that the 

 giver of the bangle had been Mr. Hawkins. She was only 

 too sure that it had not been Christopher, and certainly no 

 glimmer of suspicion crossed her mind that the first spend- 

 ings from her loan to Mr. Lambert were represented by the 

 bangle. 



She opened the blotter, and read again that part of the 

 letter that treated of Christopher Dysart. " P'yah ! " she 

 said to herself, " the little fool ! what does she know about 

 him ? " At this juncture, the wheezing of the spring of the 

 passage-door gave kindly signal of danger, and Charlotte 

 deftly slipped the letter back into the blotter, replaced the 

 bangle under the sheets of paper, and was standing outside 

 the French window when Francie came into the room, with 

 flushed cheeks, a dirty white apron, and in her hands a 

 plate bearing a sponge-cake of the most approved shade of 

 golden-brown. At sight of Charlotte she stopped guiltily, 

 and, as the latter stepped in at the window, she became even 

 redder than the fire had made her. 



♦' Oh — I've just made this, Charlotte — " she faltered \ " I 

 bought the eggs and the butter myself ; I sent Bid for them, 

 and Norry said — she thought you wouldn't mind — " 



On an ordinary occasion Charlotte might have minded 

 considerably even so small a thing as the heating of the 

 oven and the amount of flour and sugar needed for the con- 

 struction of the cake; but a slight, a very slight sense of 

 wrong-doing, conspired with a little confusion, consequent 

 on the narrowness of her escape, to dispose her to com- 

 pliance. 



"Why, me dear child, why would I mind anything so 

 agreeable to me and all concerned as that splendour of a 

 cake that I see there ? I declare I never gave you credit 

 for being able to do anything half as useful ! 'Pon me 

 honour, I'll give a tea-party on the strength of it." Even as 



