It was late when the young people returned from Mrs. Ruggles'. They were
in gay spirits and Mrs. St. Clair could hear them talking and laughing
in the hall, first the motorists and then the ones who had driven. She
did not go down to meet them and they scattered to their rooms to wash
their faces and smooth their wind-blown locks. There was no time to
dress for supper.
"I don't see how I can face them," she said to herself. "I'm so unhappy,
and I'm afraid they will notice that I have been crying."
But she bathed her temples in cold water, put on a cheery-colored silk
dress, and went downstairs when the gong sounded for supper. Down
trooped the boys and girls with sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks. The
sound of their happy laughter reached her below and she pressed her hand
to her heart and sighed deeply. Then her expression hardened:
"Little wretch," she exclaimed. "She should be well punished, and she
shall be, too."
"'Soup of the evening, beautiful soup,'" sang Merry, dancing a jig in
the hall:
"'Beautiful soup so rich and green,
Waiting in a hot tureen!'"
"'Who for such dainties would not stoop?
Soup of the evening, beautiful soup,'"
continued Rosomond, seizing Merry's hands and whirling with him up and
down the hall until they both fell in a laughing heap on the floor.
"Oh, we have had such a good time," cried Billie and Mary together,
taking each a hand of Mrs. St. Clair.
"It has been such glorious fun," went on Billie, "and we are just as
hungry for supper as if we hadn't eaten enough food to feed a regiment
this afternoon."
"And such fine food, too, Mrs. St. Clair," said Mary. "I think it was
the most delightful party I have ever been to."
"I am glad you were so happy," replied Mrs. St. Clair, making an effort
to smile and succeeding very poorly.
Mary, who was as sensitive to changes in manner as an aeolian harp is to
the slightest breeze, looked at her hostess quickly and noticed the red
rims on her eyelids.
"Aren't you feeling well, dear Mrs. St. Clair?" she asked gently.
Mrs. St. Clair put her hands on the girl's shoulders and looked into the
clear dark eyes.
"I am quite well, Mary. A little upset over something that happened
to-day. That is all."
"You mean the pearl necklace?"
"Yes."
"I am so sorry. I wish we could have found it for you."
"It has been found, Mary," said the widow, turning her head away so as
not to see Mary's face.
"Oh, you did find it? I am so glad. Where was it?"
"Supper is served, Mrs. St. Clair," said Randolph, opening the door to
the dining room, where the others were already waiting.
"We will talk about where it was found later," she said to Mary, who
gave her a puzzled look, as she followed into the room.
When supper was over, the boys and girls scattered about the various
rooms. Roly Poly and Nancy got up charades. Billie curled up in a big
easy chair by the fire. She had got most of the wind in her face and she
was very sleepy. No one noticed, therefore, when Mrs. St. Clair, drawing
Mary's hand through her arm, led her out of the room.
"I want to see you upstairs, Mary," she said. "Will you come to my
little private sitting room? There is something I wish to talk with you
about."
Mary was still wondering what in the world could be wanted of her, when
Mrs. St. Clair drew her into a pretty little pink boudoir at the end of
the hall. The door to the next room had been left open, but Mary did not
notice a small, dapper man sitting there in a high-backed cretonne
chair.
The pearl necklace was lying on a table in the boudoir. Mrs. St. Clair
picked it up and held it out to Mary.
"Did you ever see it closely before, Mary?" she asked.
"No, I never did," answered the girl, with enthusiasm. "How beautiful it
is. No wonder you were so unhappy. But where did you find it?"
"That is just why I brought you in here, Mary. I wanted to ask you if
you could guess where the necklace had been found at last."
Mary suddenly became very grave. She was beginning to notice now that
Mrs. St. Clair was in an unusually serious frame of mind and that
something must have happened concerning the necklace which the others
had not heard.
"I don't understand," she said, after a pause. "Why should I guess?"
"Is it possible, Mary," exclaimed the widow, "that even after you were
told I had found the necklace you were not just a little frightened, a
little uneasy? Didn't you suspect when I asked you to come up here with
me that I was going to speak to you about the necklace?"
Mary looked at her in wonder for a few minutes. Then a light dawned on
her.
"It's Fannie Alta again," she said, in a low voice. "She must have put
the necklace among some of my things."
"Then you do know where I found the necklace?" cried the widow
triumphantly.
"I can guess," said Mary. "You found it in my suit case. It's the second
time she's done something like that."
"Mary, Mary--don't blame it on any one else. I did find the necklace in
your valise----"
Mary stood up. Her eyes were blazing and her small slender frame was
shaken with emotion.
"Do you mean to insinuate that I stole your pearl necklace?" she cried.
Her words rang out in a high, clear tone that made the small man in the
next room stir uneasily.
"How else did the necklace get into your bag, Mary?"
[Illustration: "Do you mean to insinuate that I stole your pearl
necklace?"]
"Fannie Alta put it there. She put twenty dollars into my pocket not
long ago and tried to accuse me of taking that, and when I gave it back
to her she hadn't a word to say."
"But, Mary, Fannie is not your only accuser. Miss Gray tells me that you
have been suspected of many thefts since school opened."
"Oh, oh!" cried Mary. "How dare she? How dare any one? What have I done
that these people should try to make me out a thief? Oh, mother,
mother!"
"That is just why I brought you up here to-night, Mary. On account of
your sweet, lovely mother. I want you to make me a promise in return for
what I am going to do for you. I promise not to push this matter any
farther. It shall never reach your mother's ears. She will be spared all
distress and misery, if you promise me never again, as long as you live,
to steal. It was not nice of you, Mary, staying here as my guest, to
steal from me. Will you make me that promise?"
Mary did not reply. She sat down and clasped her hands in her lap. Once
or twice her throat quivered with the little sob, which so went to
Billie's heart. She pressed her hands together and closed her eyes for a
moment. Her face was so pale that Mrs. St. Clair thought she was going
to faint, but her lips were moving.
"Oh, God, help me," she prayed softly. "Tell me what to say."
Presently her agitation ceased altogether. She opened her eyes and
looked calmly at the widow.
"No, I will not promise you that, Mrs. St. Clair, because I have never
stolen anything in my life. I would prefer that my mother should know
about this. I don't wish to keep it from her. She would never believe me
guilty, no matter what the evidence was against me, even if I had to go
to jail. You say you found the necklace in my bag? How did you happen to
look for it there?"
"You see, I believed that Fannie Alta had taken it, and when we brought
her into the living room and urged her to tell what she knew, she
accused you. I would not believe it, however, until I had called up Miss
Gray. It was only after that that I looked in your bag."
Mary stood up.
"I know that things look very black for me, Mrs. St. Clair. I don't
understand why, but there is a conspiracy in the High School. It seems
to have formed around Billie and me in particular. But there is
something else, too. Something is going on in West Haven--something too
big for us to understand. Billie and I are in it, and Fannie Alta is in
it, and sometimes I think even Belle Rogers is, too. I don't know what
it all means, or why it should have anything to do with making me a
thief, but I am not a thief, and I did not put the necklace in my bag.
Good-night. I will not see you again. As soon as morning comes, Billie
and I will go back in the motor. I know she will take me if I ask her."
Mary walked quietly out of the room.
"That's a girl of fine spirit," thought Mr. Bangs. "The case is
certainly interesting enough to keep me here another week."