“Why don’t you dance, Miss Deveen?” asked bold Harry, halting before the sofa.
“Will you dance with me, Master Harry?”
“Of course I will. Glad to get you.”
“Don’t tell fibs, young man. I might take you at your word, if I had my dancing-shoes on.”
Harry laughed. Sophie Chalk’s blue eyes happened to rest on Mr. James’s face: they took a puzzled expression, as if wondering where she had seen it. Mr. James rose and bowed to her. She must have recognized him then, for her features turned livid, in spite of the powder upon them.
“Who is it, Johnny?” she whispered, in her confusion, loosing Harry’s arm and coming behind.
“Well, you must ask that of Miss Deveen. He has come here to see her: something’s up, I fancy, about those emerald studs.”
Had it been to save my fortune, I could not have helped saying it. I saw it all as in a mirror. She it was who had taken them, and pledged them afterwards. A similar light flashed on Miss Deveen. She followed her with her severe face, her condemning eyes.
“Take care, Johnny!” cried Miss Deveen.
I was just in time to catch Sophie Chalk. She would have fallen on my shoulder. The room was in a commotion at once: a young lady had fainted. What from? asked every one. Oh, from the heat, of course. And no other reason was breathed.