“Indeed,” she said, “this girl herself can work up quite a tempest when anything crosses her, and I’ve had some little experience with tantrum headaches——”
“Jane!”
“Oh, I mean it, Gloria. You were no lamb to bring up.”
“Same way with our Jack. She was as headstrong as a little mule. And she always could, as you say, Miss Morgan, work up a tantrum headache.” A heavy sigh betrayed troubled memories. “Suppose we just go along up and feel out which way the land lies?”
“Yes, of course, that’s what I meant,” floundered Gloria. The small room was excessively warm, and the round pot stove like a red flannel petticoat blown out by the explosive heat. Gloria’s coat had been hanging loosely from her shoulders and she now shifted it to place. As she did so the little, strange dark necklace caught fast in the hanger ribbon at the back, and she tugged at it a moment, trying to release it.
“Can I help you?” asked Jane putting her hand up to the offending trinket.
“Oh, no, thanks,” replied Gloria. “The catch of this necklace—sticks.” She gave it a vigorous tug and with a clattering rattle the beads fell at her feet.
“Oh, I hope I didn’t break it,” she exclaimed. “It’s something new.” Mrs. Corday was looking inquiringly, so Gloria held it towards her!
“Let—me—see!” almost gasped the woman, bending over to scrutinize the necklace. “Where ever did you get that?”
“It was given me,” replied Gloria. She could not say by whom.