It was late when the young people returned from Mrs. Ruggles’. They were in gay spirits and Mrs. St. Clair could hear them talking and laughing in the hall, first the motorists and then the ones who had driven. She did not go down to meet them and they scattered to their rooms to wash their faces and smooth their wind-blown locks. There was no time to dress for supper.

“I don’t see how I can face them,” she said to herself. “I’m so unhappy, and I’m afraid they will notice that I have been crying.”

But she bathed her temples in cold water, put on a cheery-colored silk dress, and went downstairs when the gong sounded for supper. Down trooped the boys and girls with sparkling eyes and glowing cheeks. The sound of their happy laughter reached her below and she pressed her hand to her heart and sighed deeply. Then her expression hardened:

“Little wretch,” she exclaimed. “She should be well punished, and she shall be, too.”

“‘Soup of the evening, beautiful soup,’” sang Merry, dancing a jig in the hall:

“‘Beautiful soup so rich and green,
Waiting in a hot tureen!’”
“‘Who for such dainties would not stoop?
Soup of the evening, beautiful soup,’”

continued Rosomond, seizing Merry’s hands and whirling with him up and down the hall until they both fell in a laughing heap on the floor.

“Oh, we have had such a good time,” cried Billie and Mary together, taking each a hand of Mrs. St. Clair.

“It has been such glorious fun,” went on Billie, “and we are just as hungry for supper as if we hadn’t eaten enough food to feed a regiment this afternoon.”

“And such fine food, too, Mrs. St. Clair,” said Mary. “I think it was the most delightful party I have ever been to.”

“I am glad you were so happy,” replied Mrs. St. Clair, making an effort to smile and succeeding very poorly.

Mary, who was as sensitive to changes in manner as an aeolian harp is to the slightest breeze, looked at her hostess quickly and noticed the red rims on her eyelids.

“Aren’t you feeling well, dear Mrs. St. Clair?” she asked gently.

Mrs. St. Clair put her hands on the girl’s shoulders and looked into the clear dark eyes.

“I am quite well, Mary. A little upset over something that happened to-day. That is all.”

“You mean the pearl necklace?”

“Yes.”

“I am so sorry. I wish we could have found it for you.”

“It has been found, Mary,” said the widow, turning her head away so as not to see Mary’s face.

“Oh, you did find it? I am so glad. Where was it?”

“Supper is served, Mrs. St. Clair,” said Randolph, opening the door to the dining room, where the others were already waiting.

“We will talk about where it was found later,” she said to Mary, who gave her a puzzled look, as she followed into the room.

When supper was over, the boys and girls scattered about the various rooms. Roly Poly and Nancy got up charades. Billie curled up in a big easy chair by the fire. She had got most of the wind in her face and she was very sleepy. No one noticed, therefore, when Mrs. St. Clair, drawing Mary’s hand through her arm, led her out of the room.

“I want to see you upstairs, Mary,” she said. “Will you come to my little private sitting room? There is something I wish to talk with you about.”

Mary was still wondering what in the world could be wanted of her, when Mrs. St. Clair drew her into a pretty little pink boudoir at the end of the hall. The door to the next room had been left open, but Mary did not notice a small, dapper man sitting there in a high-backed cretonne chair.

The pearl necklace was lying on a table in the boudoir. Mrs. St. Clair picked it up and held it out to Mary.

“Did you ever see it closely before, Mary?” she asked.

“No, I never did,” answered the girl, with enthusiasm. “How beautiful it is. No wonder you were so unhappy. But where did you find it?”

“That is just why I brought you in here, Mary. I wanted to ask you if you could guess where the necklace had been found at last.”

Mary suddenly became very grave. She was beginning to notice now that Mrs. St. Clair was in an unusually serious frame of mind and that something must have happened concerning the necklace which the others had not heard.

“I don’t understand,” she said, after a pause. “Why should I guess?”

“Is it possible, Mary,” exclaimed the widow, “that even after you were told I had found the necklace you were not just a little frightened, a little uneasy? Didn’t you suspect when I asked you to come up here with me that I was going to speak to you about the necklace?”

Mary looked at her in wonder for a few minutes. Then a light dawned on her.

“It’s Fannie Alta again,” she said, in a low voice. “She must have put the necklace among some of my things.”

“Then you do know where I found the necklace?” cried the widow triumphantly.

“I can guess,” said Mary. “You found it in my suit case. It’s the second time she’s done something like that.”

“Mary, Mary—don’t blame it on any one else. I did find the necklace in your valise——”

Mary stood up. Her eyes were blazing and her small slender frame was shaken with emotion.

“Do you mean to insinuate that I stole your pearl necklace?” she cried.

Her words rang out in a high, clear tone that made the small man in the next room stir uneasily.

“How else did the necklace get into your bag, Mary?”

“Fannie Alta put it there. She put twenty dollars into my pocket not long ago and tried to accuse me of taking that, and when I gave it back to her she hadn’t a word to say.”

“But, Mary, Fannie is not your only accuser. Miss Gray tells me that you have been suspected of many thefts since school opened.”

“Oh, oh!” cried Mary. “How dare she? How dare any one? What have I done that these people should try to make me out a thief? Oh, mother, mother!”

“That is just why I brought you up here to-night, Mary. On account of your sweet, lovely mother. I want you to make me a promise in return for what I am going to do for you. I promise not to push this matter any farther. It shall never reach your mother’s ears. She will be spared all distress and misery, if you promise me never again, as long as you live, to steal. It was not nice of you, Mary, staying here as my guest, to steal from me. Will you make me that promise?”

Mary did not reply. She sat down and clasped her hands in her lap. Once or twice her throat quivered with the little sob, which so went to Billie’s heart. She pressed her hands together and closed her eyes for a moment. Her face was so pale that Mrs. St. Clair thought she was going to faint, but her lips were moving.

“Oh, God, help me,” she prayed softly. “Tell me what to say.”

Presently her agitation ceased altogether. She opened her eyes and looked calmly at the widow.

“No, I will not promise you that, Mrs. St. Clair, because I have never stolen anything in my life. I would prefer that my mother should know about this. I don’t wish to keep it from her. She would never believe me guilty, no matter what the evidence was against me, even if I had to go to jail. You say you found the necklace in my bag? How did you happen to look for it there?”

“You see, I believed that Fannie Alta had taken it, and when we brought her into the living room and urged her to tell what she knew, she accused you. I would not believe it, however, until I had called up Miss Gray. It was only after that that I looked in your bag.”

Mary stood up.

“I know that things look very black for me, Mrs. St. Clair. I don’t understand why, but there is a conspiracy in the High School. It seems to have formed around Billie and me in particular. But there is something else, too. Something is going on in West Haven—something too big for us to understand. Billie and I are in it, and Fannie Alta is in it, and sometimes I think even Belle Rogers is, too. I don’t know what it all means, or why it should have anything to do with making me a thief, but I am not a thief, and I did not put the necklace in my bag. Good-night. I will not see you again. As soon as morning comes, Billie and I will go back in the motor. I know she will take me if I ask her.”

Mary walked quietly out of the room.

“That’s a girl of fine spirit,” thought Mr. Bangs. “The case is certainly interesting enough to keep me here another week.”