“Fifteen dollars.”

“It ain’t the money—­”

“Twenty!”

“I—­I can’t!”

“Twenty-five dollars, Martha.  Radcliffe’s heart is set on the dog.”

A quick observer, looking attentively at Mrs. Slawson’s face, could have seen something like a faint quiver disturb the firm lines of her lips and chin for a moment.  A flash, and it was gone.

“I’d give you the dog, an’ welcome, Mr. Ronald,” she said presently, “but I just can’t do it.  The little feller, he never had a square deal before, an’ because my husband an’ the rest of us give it to him, he loves us to death, an’ you’d think he’d bark his head off for joy when the raft o’ them gets home after school.  An’ then, nights—­(I ben workin’ overtime lately, doin’ outside jobs that bring me home late)—­nights, when I come back, an’ all in the place is abed an’ asleep, an’ I let myself in, in the black an’ the cold, the only livin’ creature to welcome me is Flicker.  An’ there he stands, up an’ ready for me, the minute he hears my key in the lock, an’ when I open the door, an’ light the changelier (he don’t dare let a bark out of’m, he knows better, the smart little fella!), there he stands, a-waggin’ his stump of a tail like a Christian, an’—­Mr. Ronald, sir—­that wag ain’t for sale!”

For a moment something akin in both held them silent.  Then Mr. Ronald slowly inclined his head.  “You are quite right, Martha.  I understand your feeling.”

Martha turned to go.  She had, in fact, reached the door when she was recalled.

“O—­one moment, please.”

She came back.

“My sister tells me you worked in my rooms yesterday.  Was any one there with you at the time?”

“No, sir.  Mrs. Sherman said I might have one of the girls, but I perfer to see to your things myself.”

“Then you were quite alone?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know if any one else in the household had occasion to go into my rooms during the day?”

“Of course I can’t be pos’tive.  But I don’t think so, sir.”

“Then I wonder if this belongs to you?” He extended his hand toward her.  In his palm lay a small, flat, gold locket.

Something like the faintest possible electric shock passed up Mrs. Slawson’s spine, and contracted the muscles about her mouth.  For a second she positively grinned, then quickly her face regained its customary calm.  With a clever, if slightly tardy, movement, her hand went up to her throat.

“Yes, sir—­shoor, it’s mine!  Now what do you think of that!  Me losin’ somethin’ I think the world an’ all of, an’ have wore for, I do’ know how long, an’ never missin’ it!”

Mr. Ronald’s eyes shot out a quick, quizzical gleam.

“O, you have been accustomed to wear it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Mrs. Sherman tells me she never remembers to have seen you with any sort of ornament, even a gold pin.  She thought the locket could not possibly belong to you.”