I laughed, and looked at
him freely, as I answered:
"That must have been pretty often, for it seems to me that things have
been going wrong all my life," then fearing to strike a dangerous
key-note, I added, hastily, "but I must not complain, there are
hundreds of people more miserable than I in the world."
"I know one, at any rate, who is," he interrupted, in an undertone. "I
have to thank you for returning my locket," he continued, in the same
strain, as if it had been suggested by the first remark, "I had given
it up as an irretrievable loss."
"Oh! then you got it safely," I exclaimed, with a forced
gratification, "I am so glad it was found, for your sake."
"I would not like to lose it now, it is older than you are, Amey," he
observed, without changing his sonorous voice.
"Is it indeed?" I answered, not knowing what else to say.
"I lost it on the day of the Merivales' last 'At Home,'" he went on,
as if talking to himself, "I had it when I came in here, and I missed
it when I went out."
"You were not here on that day, were you?" I interrupted, impulsively,
after which I could have bitten the end of my tongue off.
He was confused for a moment; it was the first time I had ever seen
him in the least agitated, and in my curious astonishment I lost all
self-control.
"I would remember if you had been here, for the day is clearly stamped
in my memory: it was cold and stormy," I argued, warmly, "I don't
think anyone went out of doors that could help it; it was drifting and
blustering so.
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