“My beads!” shrieked Hazel, springing from her chair and pouncing on the necklace. “Marjory Vale! You took those beads out of my drawer.”
“My beads!” shrieked Hazel, pouncing on the necklace
“I never did,” said astonished Marjory, turning crimson and looking the very picture of guilt. “I noticed those beads on your neck the night of the ice cream festival—I haven’t seen them from that moment to this. I don’t know how they got in my pocket. Just before dinner time I rushed up and got into this dress—I always dance in this one, you know, and had laid it out on my bed before I went to walk. We were late getting back and I had to hurry into my clothes. And this is the first time I’ve taken my handkerchief out tonight.”
“I suppose it is your handkerchief,” said Hazel, rather unpleasantly.
“Why, no,” said Marjory, “it isn’t. It has Dorothy Miller’s name on it.”
“Then you couldn’t have gotten it by accident,” said Hazel. “The North Corridor washing comes up on a different day from yours.”
“I don’t know how I got it,” said Marjory, two large tears rolling down her cheeks. “But I—I think you’re just mean to me, Hazel. And I liked you.”
“Come and sit down,” said Sallie, slipping an arm about Marjory. “I know just how you feel.”