“What is it?” she echoed. “What is it! Ask her!” She pointed at me. “Ever since she came,” she went on, “I have been bothered. Amy never thought of doing a thing until she appeared. Amy was always----”
But she stopped, for at that moment Amy came in and diverted the talk.
“Do you know anything about this, Amy?” asked Aunt Penelope.
Amy looked at the box and then at me. “No,” she answered.
“Why should she?” asked Evelyn. “I told you I saw the violets. I suppose she took them to Mr. Kempwood; she’s insane about him. . . . Silly little thing! . . . I hope you will make it understood, mother, that if another thing like this happens she will be shipped to her backwoods town--to stay.”
“I didn’t do it,” I said, but my voice shook, and even to myself it did not sound convincing.
“Didn’t do it!” said Evelyn, and she laughed unpleasantly.
“Where did you get the violets?” asked Aunt Penelope.
I told her, and I looked at Amy, but her face was hard, and she answered none of the appeal I sent her for help. And at that moment I began to hate her for a cheat.
“She has helped herself to my bracelet too,” Evelyn accused. “For two days it was gone, and when it came back there was a dent in it.”