She snapped the thin, beautifully carved, blood-red necklace around Beth’s throat. The deeper hue of the corals contrasted beautifully with the brighter ribbons, and against the dark loveliness of Beth’s skin the necklace had never shone to better advantage.
There was a pin, too; and Mrs. Baldwin swiftly snipped off the big rosette at Beth’s bosom and caught the filmy lace together there with the beautiful pin instead.
The corals set off the girl’s beauty wonderfully. There was an alluring, Eastern quality to it that now, enhanced by the old-fashioned jewelry, made Beth seem more mature than she really was.
Yet she was only a simple, sweet child, after all. She possessed a better figure than most girls of her age, and had a demure, self-possessed manner that might have led strangers to think her older than she was. In mind and heart, however, though thoughtful to a degree, Beth was a child.
“That’s mighty scrumptious—that’s what I call it,” declared Marcus.
Perhaps Mr. Baldwin thought so too; for the next evening, when Beth was ready to start for the Haven house, a taxicab stopped at the door.
“Papa Baldwin! What extravagance!” exclaimed his wife.
“It’s not considered quite the thing, I believe,” he said drily, “for a young lady to walk to a party wearing three or four hundred dollars’ worth of jewelry.”
Not until then did Mrs. Baldwin wonder if she were doing wrong to allow Beth to wear the family heirloom. But it was too late to say no. Beth kissed her hand to the watching family from the taxicab—the man shut the door, and in a moment the machine rolled away from the little cottage on Bemis Street.