"Where did you get the fine toggery you wore last night?" demanded John Glenalvan, his fingers tingling with the impulse to slap the fair, defiant face.
"That is no concern of yours," she replied, resentfully.
"Tell me, dear," whispered old Hugh, intent on preserving a semblance of peace if it were possible.
Golden threw open the door of the wardrobe and showed him the brocade, which looked very yellow and old in the clear light of day.
"She had a necklace of pearls around her neck," said John, in an artful aside to his father.
"Did you, Golden?" asked her grandfather.
Golden went to the little toilet-table and took up the costly necklace which John Glenalvan instantly snatched from her hand and placed in his pocket.
Golden looked at him, tearful, dismayed, and excessively angry.
"Give them back to me," she cried. "They are mine! I found them—indeed I did, grandpa. They had fallen through a hole in the pocket of the dress into the skirt lining. They are mine, and you shall give them back to me, Uncle John."
"I will show you whether I will or not," he replied. "The necklace belongs to me. Everything in the house belongs to me, as well as the estate itself. You only have a home on sufferance here. Take care that you do not lose that."