But here, skating down to them with a pretty grace, her sweet face glowing above her warm furs, came Cousin Cecil, and just behind her the fair mustache of Captain Strangways, the children's firm friend; and after that there could be nothing but delight.
To skate between Cousin Cecil and Captain Strangways, holding a hand of each, seemed to Beata the summit of human felicity. Rex, still Spartan even in his pleasures, preferred to stagger about alone. Beata forgot to try and pretend she was grown up.
All at once she remembered, with a shock of remorse, that Captain Strangways had never seen the wonderful locket. What an omission! Her hand went up under her fur boa to bring that neglected ornament into its proper position; then stopped short. The thin little bit of blue ribbon dangled aimless there, to be sure, but there was no locket.
I don't think Beata will ever forget that moment, if she lives to be an old woman. Her face looked almost gray as she turned it up speechlessly to Cousin Cecil's wondering gaze.
"My locket! oh, my locket!" she managed to gasp.
"Your locket, dear? Why, what's the matter? Oh, Beata, you don't mean to say you wore it?"
"Oh yes, I did, I did; and now it's gone."
Cousin Cecil looked very grave indeed. "Oh, Beata!" was all she said, but it was worse than any words almost.
"Oh, do let's find it; do look—do, do!"
"We'll look; but as to finding it—" But Cousin Cecil broke off short. There was a scream from the other end of the lake, where the village boys and girls had made a slide—a shrill, sharp cry—and a little tiny boy, such a ragged, wretched mite, lay flat upon the hard cold ice. Captain Strangways started to go, but Cecil was there first. She was down upon her knees, and had the wee dirty face on her arm, before he could reach her side, for he was heavier and slower than she. She looked up with a serious face as he bent down to her.