The temperamental little thing stood like a wild creature at bay, her eyes glowing like those of a fawn about to receive the arrow of a hunter or a huntress. Miss Gerald did not look a very remorseless huntress, however.
“How did he know I did it?” said Dolly with a glance toward the hammer-thrower. “He didn’t catch me at it.” Defiantly.
“Deduction, my dear,” replied Gwendoline.
“He can’t prove it. I defy him.” The jolly little pal felt now how one feels when he or she is haled into a court of justice. She wouldn’t “peach” though. They could put her through the third or the thirty-third degree and she wouldn’t tell on Bob. Never! “You have only his word,” with another glance at the hammer-thrower, “and maybe my word is as good as his.” She had to tell a whopper; but she would tell a million for Bob. It was a pal’s duty to.
“But I saw you do it,” now interposed the monocle-man with a quiet smile.
She almost wilted at that, then threw back her head farther.
“I”—Bob stepped quickly forward—“gave it to her. It was I,” gravely to Miss Gerald, “who had your ring. Think what you please.” She had already passed judgment on him, he remembered.
“Don’t you believe him,” tempestuously interrupted the temperamental little thing. “I took it myself. It—it was just a joke.”
“That’s what Miss Gerald and I were saying just now,” observed the hammer-thrower heavily. He held himself just as if he were a remote, rather puzzled bystander.
Bob gave a hoarse laugh. He couldn’t control himself.