Betty’s only answer was a broad grin and a chuckle as she sprang past Gracie and opened the door for her.

Violet, seated on the farther side of the room, looked up with her usual sweet smile.  “See, Gracie dear, I am making a lace collar for you, and I want to try it on to see if it fits.”

“Now, Betty, get a dust-pan and brush and sweep up that glass.  Don’t leave the least bit of it on the carpet, lest some one should tramp on it and cut her foot.”

“Some one has broken that cut-glass perfume bottle you have always admired so much, Gracie.  Aren’t you sorry?”

“Yes, I am, mamma.  I never touch your things when you’re not here.”

The words were out almost before Grace knew she meant to speak them, and she was terribly frightened and ashamed.  She had never thought she would be guilty of telling a lie.  She hung her head, her cheeks aflame.

Violet noted the child’s confusion with a sorely troubled heart.

“No, dear,” she said very gently, “I did not suspect you, but if ever you should meet with an accident, or yield to temptation to do some mischief, I hope you will come and tell me about it at once.  You need not fear that I will be severe with you, for I love you very dearly, little Gracie.”

“Perhaps it was the cat knocked it off the bureau, mamma,” said the child, speaking low and hesitatingly.  “I’ve seen her jump up there several times.”

“Yes; so have I, and she must not be left alone in here any more.”

Betty had finished her work and was sent away.  Agnes, too, had left the room, so that Violet and Gracie were quite alone.

“Come, dear, I am quite ready to try this on.”  Violet said, holding up the collar.  “There, it fits very nicely,” as she put it on the child and gently smoothed it down over her shoulders.  “But what is the matter, my darling?” for tears were trembling on the long silken lashes that swept Gracie’s flushed cheeks.

At the question they began to fall in streams, while the little bosom heaved with sobs.  She pulled out a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe her eyes, and a strong whiff of perfume greeted Violet’s nostrils, telling a tale that sent a pang to her heart.

Gracie was instantly conscious of it, as she, too, smelled the tell-tale perfume, and stole a glance at her young stepmother’s face.

“O mamma!” she sobbed, covering her face with her hands, “I did pour a little on my handkerchief ’cause I knew you always let me have it, but I didn’t mean to break the bottle; it just slipped out o’ my hands and fell and broke.”

Violet clasped her in her arms and wept bitterly over her.

“Mamma, don’t cry,” sobbed the child, “I’ll save up all my money till I can buy you another bottle, just like that.”