Abruptly he shot up out of his chair, strode to the door, locked it and pocketed the key. His face as he turned was terrible to see.
She shrank away, but his eyes held hers in the fascination of fright.
"Why—Charlie!—what—"
He interrupted with an imperative gesture, took a step toward her, and shook his hand in her face. Between his thumb and forefinger glittered something exquisitely coruscant in the sunlight.
"What's that?" he demanded in a quivering voice.
She moved her head in assumed bewilderment, staggered to recognize the symbol of her broken troth with Matthias.
"I don't know. What is it? You keep moving it around so, I can't see...."
"There, then!" he cried, steadying the hand under her nose.
Instinctively her gaze veered to her trunk. Its lid was up. On the floor lay her work-basket in the litter of its former contents. Her indignation mounted.
"What were you doing in my trunk?" she demanded hotly.