Miss Lucilla promptly ordered Ellen's trunks and bureau drawers searched and, a gold hatpin belonging to Evangeline Marie Jenkins having materialized in one of the bureau drawers, Ellen, weeping and to the last protesting her innocence, was summarily turned out of the house.
After this excitement, school life flowed on smoothly until the last Saturday before the holiday vacation.
"The whole school's going shopping to-day," Amelia Bowers announced at the breakfast table on this particular Saturday morning. "Everybody's got a Christmas list a mile long, and it's going to be something awful. The stores will be simply jammed and it'll take an hour to buy a paper of pins."
Miss Lucilla Ryder smiled tolerantly and omitted her usual criticism of Amelia's extravagant speech.
"You will need assistance to-day, Mademoiselle de Courcelles. I will send some of the young ladies out with other teachers."
She did; but Mademoiselle's ardent admirers were faithful, and she started out at half-past nine in charge of twelve of the richest girls in the school.
From shop to shop the flock fluttered, chattering, giggling, elbowing their way through the crowds, buying many things, inspecting more, meeting smiles and good nature on every hand. There's something about the effervescent exuberance of a boarding-school crowd that thaws even the icy hauteur of the average saleswoman, and stirs any salesman to spectacular affability.
It was after a hasty and simple luncheon, beginning with lobster salad and ending with tutti-frutti ice cream and chocolate éclairs, that the Ryder expedition drifted into a well-known jewellery shop.
Belinda, helping Katherine Holland to choose a stickpin for her brother, saw the familiar faces and idly watched the girls as they bore down upon a counter where a bland salesman greeted them with welcoming smiles. She knew that Laura May was once more in quest of rings—her long-suffering father having dutifully forwarded a second cheque when told, in a tear-blotted letter, of the fate that had met the first gift—and she smiled when Laura May triumphantly fished a chamois-skin bag out of her blouse front and extracted a roll of bills which she clutched firmly in her hand, while her glance, roaming suspiciously over the surrounding crowd, glared defiance at all pickpockets.
Suddenly Belinda's smile faded. Her eyes opened wide in amazement.