“Now then, don’t keep me waiting,” continued Zack, laughing again as he came nearer; “clap your hand on your heart, and give me your tender message for the future Mrs. Marksman.”
It was on the tip of Mat’s tongue to emulate the communicativeness of young Thorpe, and to speak unreservedly of what he had seen in the drawer of the bureau--but he suddenly restrained the words just as they were dropping from his lips. At the same moment his eyes began to lose their vacant perturbed look, and to brighten again with something of craft and cunning, added to their customary watchful expression.
“What’s the young woman’s real name?” he asked carelessly, just as Zack was beginning to banter him for the third time.
“Is that all you called me back for? Her real name’s Mary.”
Mat had made his inquiry with the air of a man whose thoughts were far away from his words, and who only spoke because he felt obliged to say something. Zack’s reply to his question startled him into instant and anxious attention.
“Mary!” he repeated in a tone of surprise. “What else, besides Mary?”
“How should I know? Didn’t I try and beat it into your muddled old head, half-an-hour ago, that Blyth won’t tell his friends anything about her?” There was another pause. The secrecy in which Mr. Blyth chose to conceal Madonna’s history, and the sequestered place in the innermost drawer of his bureau where he kept the Hair Bracelet, began vaguely to connect themselves together in Mat’s mind. A curious smile hovered about his lips, and the cunning look brightened in his eyes. “The Painter-Man won’t tell anything about her, won’t he? Perhaps that thing in his drawer will.” He muttered the words to himself, putting his hands in his pockets, and mechanically kicking away a stone which happened to lie at his feet on the pavement.
“What are you grumbling about now?” asked Zack. “Do you think I’m going to stop here all day for the pleasure of hearing you talk to yourself?” As he spoke, he vivaciously rapped his friend on the shoulder with his stick. “Trust me to pave the way for you with Madonna!” he called out mischievously, as he turned back in the direction of Mr. Blyth’s house.
“Trust _me_ to have another look at your friend’s Hair Bracelet,” said Mat quietly to himself. “I’ll handle it this time, before I’m many days older.”