“Oh, no,” returned Gladys, pettishly. If Harry Townsend had brought her out on the veranda to talk about Mrs. Cartwright, then she might as well have stayed indoors. “Why do you ask?”
Harry Townsend frowned, then put his hands before his eyes. Gladys was so silly. She had served to introduce him to her friends at Newport. Now, if he could only make her useful in other ways!
“Are you angry?” Gladys asked after a moment, “What is it that you want to know about Mrs. Cartwright?”
“Oh, I don’t want to know anything about Mrs. Cartwright at all, Gladys. I am sorry I spoke of it, if the subject offends you. But I did feel a little curious to know where she got hold of the gypsies she had in the tent this afternoon. I thought you would be interested.”
“I am interested, Harry,” declared Gladys. She was only a spoiled child, and could not help showing it. “But I am not a favorite of Mrs. Cartwright’s. It’s my delightful cousins that she adores—Mollie and Bab. I can ask one of them to inquire.”
“Oh, no,” drawled Harry, “it is not of enough importance for that.”
For the next half hour Harry devoted himself to the whims of Gladys. He could see Barbara through the window, looking pale and tired. This gave all the more reason for believing that she had not recovered from the shock of her experience on the cliffs.
The cleverest man will sometimes make a false move. Harry Townsend was tired of Gladys, weary of her whims and foolishness. Besides, she had served his purpose; he was almost through with her.
“Shall we take a walk, Gladys?” he asked.
As they walked down the path toward the cliff, this up-to-date Raffles, whose fingers were more agile than a magician’s, pressed Gladys’s hand for a moment. At the same instant, he slipped her jeweled bracelet into his pocket. “I don’t want the bauble,” he said to himself, “but she might as well be punished for not doing what I ask her.”