“Funny, the face seems sort of familiar. I had such a queer feeling about it for a minute.”
“I know why it looks familiar–there’s a tiny bit of resemblance to you–not as much as in the pictures of the baby. I suppose the baby got it from the mother. Still, I think it looks like Captain Clarke, too, don’t you?”
“Let’s put these things back, Chicken Little. Poor little lady, I wonder what happened to her.” Sherm laid the picture gently back in the bottom of the drawer and helped Jane fold and lay away the other things. They had both forgotten the Roman sash which still adorned her dark hair.
Captain Clarke, coming in soon after, started when he saw her and glanced at the cabinet.
361“Dressing up, Chicken Little? That gew gaw was evidently intended by Providence for you. Won’t you accept it as a present to keep that autograph album company?”
Chicken Little put her hand to her head in dismay. Captain Clarke must have thought she wanted it. She stammered awkwardly:
“Oh, Captain Clarke–I–couldn’t take it. I oughtn’t to have put it on.”
Sherm calmly took the matter out of her hands.
“She didn’t put it on, Captain Clarke. I’m the guilty party. I thought it would be so becoming to Chicken Little–her dark hair and eyes–you know. I didn’t realize till we came across the picture that it belonged to your wife–and–you might not like to have us handle it.”
“It was never Mrs. Clarke’s,” the Captain said evenly. “I bought it for her, but she”–he hesitated an instant–“she–died before my return. I told you to rummage the drawers, and that scarf is entirely too becoming to Chicken Little’s bright eyes to be wasted in a drawer any longer. You will be doing me a favor, my dear.