"Gee," said Ethel elegantly, "none of that for mine!" And she picked up
her eyebrow pencil again and did a little more frescoing.
I went back to my work in disgust. I was so disappointed in Ethel Harper.
I had expected that the daughter of such a fine family would be a real
lady in every sense of the word--cultured, genuine, thoroughbred; and she
had turned out to be nothing but a cheap imitation--slangy, ill-bred,
snobbish, overdressed and made up like an actress. Beyond her pretty,
baby doll face there was nothing to her. There wasn't an ounce of brains
in her poor flat head.
And yet, she was tremendously popular in her own snobbish set, as I could
gather from conversations around me, and by the invitations she was
constantly receiving to festivities. Although she was not formally out in
society, I knew that she went out to dances with men very often, when her
mother thought that she was spending the night with girl friends. I found
that out from telephone conversations Ethel carried on when her mother
was out of the way. It was plain to be seen that Ethel had only one
ambition in the world, and that was to have a good time, regardless of
how she got it.
It wasn't any of my business, of course, but I couldn't help wondering
what Mrs. Harper would do if she knew about some of Ethel's little
excursions. Mrs. Harper had a flinty sort of nature and you only had to
look into those cold eyes of hers to know that it would go hard with
anyone who had displeased her. One morning I had a good chance to see her
when she was roused. A Cloisonne locket belonging to Mrs. Harper had
disappeared from her jewel box and she had accused her maid, Clarice, of
taking it. Clarice, frightened out of her wits, was tearfully protesting
her innocence, but Mrs. Harper towered over her like a fury, threatening
to hand her over to the police. Ethel, sitting in a rocking chair
polishing her finger nails, listened indifferently. I felt embarrassed to
witness this painful scene and stood irresolute, unable to decide whether
to go out or stay, when Mrs. Harper turned to me and said, "Make out a
check for Clarice's wages for the month and deduct twenty-five dollars
from it, the value of the locket she stole. Then insert an advertisement
in the papers for a new maid."
Clarice, with a fresh burst of grief, declared again that she knew
nothing about the locket, and begged not to be sent away with a black
character, because she had a paralyzed sister to support, but Mrs. Harper
was unmoved. Out went Clarice, bag and baggage, crying as she went and
still declaring her innocence.
"These maids will steal you blind, if you give them a chance," said Mrs.
Harper, still bristling with anger.
"I never did like Clarice," remarked Ethel with a yawn.
The next day Mrs. Harper went out during the morning and Ethel called me
to help her pack her visiting bag. She was going to spend the week-end
with a girl friend. No new maid had come to take Clarice's place as yet,
so Ethel took advantage of my not having much work to do for her mother
that morning to press me into service.
"I can't find my wrist watch," she said as I came in. "I don't know
whether I put it in the bag or not, and I haven't time to look. Will you
look through the bag while I finish dressing?"
I pawed carefully through the bag, and brought to light, not the wrist
watch, but the Cloisonne locket, which Mrs. Harper had accused Clarice of
taking.
"Why, Ethel," I said delightedly, "here is your mother's locket! Clarice
didn't steal it after all. It was down in your bag."
"I know it was," said Ethel coolly. "I put it there."
"_You_ put it there?" I echoed. "Did you find it, then?"
Ethel laughed disagreeably. "I had it all the while," she said. "I'm
going to a dance to-night that mamma doesn't know anything about, and
I've set my heart on wearing that locket. Mamma will never let me wear
it; it was brought to her from Paris by an old friend that's dead now,
and she's afraid I'll lose it. So I just took it out of her jewel box the
other day and made her believe Clarice took it."
"Ethel!" I exclaimed in horror. "How could you? How could you sit there
and hear your mother accuse poor Clarice of taking it?"
Ethel shrugged her shoulders. "I never did like Clarice," she said. "She
was an impertinent piece. It served her right. Put the locket back in the
bag. I've got to start in a minute."
But I didn't budge. I stood looking at her until she looked the other
way. With all her millions and all her fine connections, I despised Ethel
Harper as if she had been a crawling worm. I didn't want to get mixed up
in anything that wasn't my business, but I had no intention of letting
poor Clarice remain under a cloud.
"I'm not going to put it back in the bag," I replied firmly. "I'm going
to take it right back to your mother when she comes home. She must know
that it isn't stolen so she can make things right with Clarice."
"Don't you dare tell mamma," said Ethel furiously. "She'll kill me if she
knows I've got it. Give it to me, I say." She tried to snatch it out of
my hand, but I kept hold of it. "Give it to me, you impertinent little
stenographer, you!" she shrieked.
It was getting disgraceful. I tried to save a shred of dignity. I laid
the locket on the dresser and faced Ethel steadily. I still had a vivid
memory of Clarice's distressed face as she went out that day.
"You have done Clarice a wrong," I said firmly, "and it must be righted.
I'll give you your choice. Either you take the locket back to your mother
or I'll tell her where it is."
Ethel changed her tactics and tried to bribe me. "I'll give you a dozen
pairs of silk stockings if you don't say anything to mamma about it and
let her go on thinking it's stolen, so I can wear it whenever I please,"
she offered.
I longed to choke her. "Don't you try to bribe me, Ethel Harper," I said
severely. "I've got a code of honor, even if I am a poor stenographer,
which is more than you have, with all your millions."
"Some more of your Campfire stuff," she said sneeringly.
"You bet it is 'Campfire stuff,'" I replied hotly. "You see that little
pin? One of things it says is 'Be trustworthy.' If I let Clarice be
unjustly accused I wouldn't be worthy of that pin. Remember! Either you
tell your mother or I do." And I started for the door.
Ethel changed her tune again and began to cry. "Everybody is so horrid to
me," she sobbed. "Mamma will never let me go anywhere I want to go or
wear what I want to wear, and the servants won't do what I tell them.
Even my mother's stenographer bosses me around! I wish I was dead!"
But I was firm in my championship of Clarice. "You'll have to tell," I
repeated. "I see your mother coming in now."
Ethel began to look frightened. "I'll not tell her I took it, she'd kill
me," she whined. "I'll tell her I just found it and she can take back
what she said to Clarice."