Once there she lost no time in getting out her calling costume preparatory to a hurried toilet after luncheon. On reaching up for her hat which she kept on the top shelf in her closet, she knocked down a cherished florist’s box and out tumbled a withered bunch of violets. With an exclamation of annoyance, she stooped to pick up the petals and dried leaves, and her fingers closed over cold metal. Considerably startled, Marjorie retreated to the window and examined what she held in her hand. It was a beautiful emerald and diamond bracelet which was carefully secured about the short stems of the bouquet.
Marjorie gazed at it in complete bewilderment; then going over to the closet, she picked up the box and its cover. It bore the florist’s name from whom Duncan had sent her a corsage bouquet some days before; but certainly when she wore the violets and afterward put them away for safe keeping no bracelet had encircled the stems.
More and more startled Marjorie returned to the window, and inspected the bracelet with minute care. The unique design seemed oddly familiar. With great difficulty she finally deciphered the initials on the inside: “S. P.”—“J. C. C.”—“Jan. 14, 1844.”
“‘S. P.—J. C. C.’” she repeated thoughtfully. “J. C. C.—where have I heard—Heavens! J. Calhoun-Cooper—of course, I’ve seen Pauline wear the bracelet. How did it get here?” She looked at the beautiful bauble with increasing horror, as her ever-present fear supplied an answer to her question.
“God help Janet if Pauline ever finds out who took her bracelet,” she groaned. “She will meet no mercy there.”
CHAPTER XVIII
LIGHT-FINGERED GENTRY
Tom Nichols passed down the long line of the receiving party at the Charity Ball and paused near the north end of the New Willard ballroom and looked about him. The floor was thronged with dancers, and from where he stood it was impossible to make out the occupants of the boxes which lined the length of the room on both sides. He waited for some minutes, hoping that at the end of the dance he would be able to walk about the floor, but the music was continuous, the Marine Band breaking into a fox trot when the Engineer Band at the opposite end of the room, ceased playing. He shouldered his way through the waiting men, and dodging between the dancers, he walked down the room as best he could, and reaching the center spied Marjorie and Janet sitting in their box with several friends. In a few seconds he joined them.
“Better late than never, Tom,” exclaimed Marjorie gaily. “You’re a sight for sair e’en. Janet dear, here is Captain Nichols.”
“Oh, how are you,” Janet paused long enough in her conversation with Baron von Valkenberg to take Tom’s hand, then deliberately turned her back on him.
Tom’s lips were compressed in a hard line as he bowed to Mrs. Calhoun-Cooper, who was occupying an adjoining seat in the next box, and leaning across the brass railing which divided them, he conversed for a short time with her. A movement in his own box caused him to turn back, and he discovered Janet on the point of leaving. He stepped in front of her deliberately.