passed through the sitting-room to her own bedroom, and found the maid putting the room ready for the night.
"Minnie," she said, throwing a quick glance about the apartment, "where did you put the clothes I took off when I came?"
"Here, miss."
The girl opened the wardrobe and Oliva made a hurried search.
"Did you find—anything, a little ticket?"
The girl smiled.
"Oh yes, miss. It was in your stocking."
Oliva laughed.
"I suppose you thought it was rather queer, finding that sort of thing in a girl's stocking," she asked, but the maid was busily opening the drawers of the dressing-table in search of something.
"Here it is, miss."
She held a small square ticket in her hand and held it with such disapproving primness that Oliva nearly laughed.
"I found it in your stocking, miss," she said again.
"Quite right," said Oliva coolly, "that's where I put it. I always carry my pawn tickets in my stocking."
The admirable Minnie sniffed.
"I suppose you have never seen such a thing," smiled Oliva, "and you hardly knew what it was."
The lady's maid turned very red. She had unfortunately seen many such certificates of penury, but all that was part of her private life, and she had been shocked beyond measure to be confronted with this too-familiar evidence of impecuniosity in the home of a lady who represented to her an assured income and comfortable pickings.
Oliva went back to her sitting-room and debated the matter. It was a sense of diffidence, the fear of making herself ridiculous, which arrested her. Otherwise she might have flown into the room, declaimed her preposterous theories and leave these clever men to work out the details. She opened the door and with the ticket clenched in her hand stepped into the room.
If they had missed her after she had left nobody saw her return. They were sitting in a group about the table,
