“You must not tell,” she whispered, putting out her hand imploringly. “You must not get Julian into trouble. He”—her voice shook—“he can explain.”
Norcross laid a soothing hand on her shoulder. “Trust me,” he whispered comfortingly. “Good night,” and with a sobbing word of thanks, Ethel fled upstairs.
CHAPTER XII
QUICKSAND
Mrs. Ogden was bored, and when bored her temper was apt to prove uncertain. Only Professor Norcross and her husband had appeared for breakfast, and the latter had persisted in discussing politics and the money market, two things which she abhorred, and she had seen them depart with a sense of relief. She had left the dining room shortly after to interview the florist’s assistant, who had come to decorate the house for her dinner that evening.
The interview was longer than she anticipated, and several times she called upon Julian Barclay, who had entered the reception hall while the discussion was still going on, to settle knotty points in the arrangement of palms and flowers.
“Do sit down, Julian,” Mrs. Ogden switched her comfortable arm chair back from the table. “You have been prancing up and down this hall until my nerves are quite on edge.”
“I beg your pardon, Cousin Jane,” exclaimed Barclay contritely. “I wasn’t aware that my restlessness bothered you.” He stopped before the carved mantel-piece. “I thought you had two Dresden jars on either side of the clock,” he remarked, raising the piece of china in his hand and glancing critically inside it.
“So I had, but that lazy, worthless parlor maid broke it when dusting this morning.”
“Broke it!” gasped Barclay, and the jar he held almost slipped from his grasp.
“Take care,” Mrs. Ogden jumped. “Do put down that jar, Julian; I cannot afford to lose both,” she entreated. “Yes, the maid broke the other, and had the audacity to say that it was cracked in the first place.” Mrs. Ogden sniffed. “I let her know I thought she was cracked.”