“But the necklace?” Blair asked, hesitating, “do you think we ought to leave that here?”
The girl considered a moment.
“It's really yours,” she decided. “Nobody else could have the least claim to it.”
“Except—” Suddenly his eyes shone with a strange expression before which the little art teacher instinctively shrank. He took a step toward her.
“I believe I'll give the garnets back,” he announced. “I fancy that's what the princess would have liked to do if she'd had the chance. Besides,” his eyes grew still darker, “they were meant in the first place for a wedding gift, and so if you—”
He would have clasped them about her neck, but Miss Hastings backed frantically away.
“No!—not for worlds,” she cried. “You know you're only saying it because you think you can't get out of it!” And before he could realize just what was happening, she was gone.
The boat for Los Angeles was unusually crowded that night. For either this reason, or some other she would not acknowledge, Miss Hastings found herself pushed aside by more impatient passengers every time she attempted to enter the gangway.
“All aboard!” called a peremptory voice from somewhere on deck. She took a step forward, hesitated, drew back. The plank was hauled irrevocably away, and she turned to face Blair standing just behind her on the wharf.
“I was sure you wouldn't run away,” he declared, “but if you had—!”