"You rascal!" he whispered, looking at Fritz, who raised his head quickly with a threatening look in his wicked eyes.
Lloyd lay with one hand stretched out, holding the dog's protecting paw.
The other held something against her tear-stained cheek.
"What under the sun!" he thought, as he drew it gently from her fingers.
The little glove lay across his hand, slim and aristocratic-looking.

He knew instinctively whose it was.

"Poor little thing's been crying," he thought.

"She wants Elizabeth.

And so do I! And so do I!" his heart cried out with bitter longing.