“Well, it does.  An’ the reason she hasn’t noticed me wearin’ it is, I wear it under my waist, see?”

Again Mr. Ronald fixed her with his keen eyes.  “I see.  You wear it under your waist.  Of course, that explains why she hasn’t noticed it.  Yet, if you wear it under your waist, how came it to get out from under and be on my desk?”

Martha’s face did not change beneath his scrutiny.  During a rather long moment she was silent, then her answer came glibly enough.

“When I’m workin’ I’m ap’ to get het-up, an’ then I sometimes undoes the neck o’ my waist, an’ turns it back to give me breathin’-room.”

Mr. Ronald accepted it gravely.  “Well, it is a very pretty locket, Martha—­and a very pretty face inside it.  Of course, as the trinket was in my room, and as there was no name or sign on the outside to identify it, I opened it.  I hope you don’t mind.”

“Certainly not,” Martha assured him.  “Certainly not!”

“The inscription on the inside puzzles me.  ‘Dear Daddy, from Claire.’  Now, assuredly, you’re not dear Daddy, Martha.”

Mrs. Slawson laughed.  “Not on your life, I ain’t Dear Daddy, sir.  Dear Daddy was Judge Lang of Grand Rapids—­you know, where the furnitur’ an’ the carpet-sweepers comes from—­He died about a year ago, an’ Miss Claire, knowin’ how much store I set by her, an’ how I’d prize her picture, she give me the locket, as you see it.”

“You say Grand Rapids?—­the young lady, Miss Claire, as you call her, lives in Grand Rapids?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I suppose you think I am very inquisitive, asking so many questions, but the fact is, I am extremely interested.  You will see why, when I explain that several weeks ago, one day downtown, I saw a little girl—­a young lady—­who might have been the original of this very picture, the resemblance is so marked.  But, of course, if your young lady lives in Grand Rapids, she can’t be my little girl—­I should say, the young woman I saw here in New York City.  But if they were one and the same, they couldn’t look more alike.  The only difference I can see, is that the original of your picture is evidently a prosperous ’little sister of the rich,’ and the original of mine—­the one I’ve carried in my mind—­is a breadwinner.  She was employed in an office where I had occasion to go one day on business.  The next time I happened to drop in there—­a few days later—­she was gone.  I was sorry.  That office was no place for her, but I would have been glad to find her there, that I might have placed her somewhere else, in a safer, better position.  I hope she has come to no harm.”

Martha hung fire a moment.  Then, suddenly, her chin went up, as with the impulse of a new resolve.