Part 11 (1/2)

”You're afraid to trust your property to me,” Bob said, piqued by her indecision.

”No, I'm not,” was the quick response. ”See? Here is the belt.”

She drew from her pocket a narrow strip of white leather to which a handsome silver buckle was attached and placed it in his hand.

He took it, inspected its fastening and looked with beating pulse at the girdle's slender span.

”Do you think it can be mended?” she inquired anxiously.

”Of course it can.”

”Oh, I'm so glad!”

”Give me a few days and you shall have it back as good as new.”

”That will be splendid!” Her eyes shone with starry brightness. ”You see,” she went on, ”it was given me on my birthday by my--my--by some one I care a great deal for--by my--” she stopped, embarra.s.sed.

Robert Morton was too well mannered to put into words the interrogation that trembled on his lips, but he might as well have done so, so transparent was the questioning glance that traveled to her left hand in search of the telltale solitaire. Even though his search was not rewarded, he felt certain that the hand concealed in the folds of her dress wore the fatal ring. Of course, mused he, with a shrug, he might have guessed it. No such beauty as this was wandering unclaimed about the world. Well, her fiance, whoever he might be, was a lucky devil!

Without doubt, confound his impudence, his arm had traveled the pathway of that band of leather scores of times.

One couldn't blame the dog! For want of a better vent for his irritation, Bob took up the belt and again examined it. He had been quite safe in boasting that the bauble should be returned to its owner as good as new, for although he did not confess it, on its silver clasp he had discovered the manufacturer's name. If the buckle could not be repaired, another of similar pattern should replace it. Unquestionably he was a fool to go to this trouble and expense for nothing. Yet was it quite for nothing? Was it not worth while to win even a smile from this creature whose approval gave one the sense of being knighted?

True, t.i.tles meant but little in these days of democracy but when bestowed by such royalty-- She broke in on his reverie by extending her hand. ”Good-by,” she said. ”You have been very kind, Mr.--”

”My name is Morton--Bob Morton.”

”Why! Then you must be the son of Aunt Tiny's brother?”

”_Aunt Tiny_!”

As she laughed he saw again the ravis.h.i.+ng dimple and her even, white teeth.

”Oh, she isn't my real aunt,” she explained. ”I just call her that because I am so fond of her. I adore both her and Willie.”

”Who is takin' my name in vain?” called a cheery voice, as the little inventor rounded the corner of the shed and entered the room.

”Delight--as I live! I might 'a' known it was you. Well, well, dear child, if I'm not glad to see you.”

He placed his hands on her shoulders and beamed into her blus.h.i.+ng face while she bent and spread the loops of his soft tie out beneath his chin.

”How nice of you, Willie dear, to come back before I had gone!” she said, arranging the bow with exaggerated care.

”Bless your heart, I'd 'a' come back sooner had I known you were here,”

declared he affectionately. ”What brings you, little lady?”

She pointed to the trinket dangling from Robert Morton's grasp.

”I snapped the clasp of my belt buckle, Willie--that lovely silver buckle Zenas Henry gave me,” she confessed with contrition. ”How do you suppose I could have been so careless? I have been heart-broken ever since.”

”Nonsense! Nonsense!” cried the old man, patting her hand. ”Don't go grievin' over a little thing like that. 'Tain't worth it. Break all the buckles ever was made, but not your precious heart, my dear. Like as not the thing can be mended.”

”Mr. Morton says it can.”