rprisedly at Billy and uncertainly at the shawl, which she mechanically accepted. "Why I--I didn't remember having it with me," she hesitated.
"I noticed you were wearing one other evenings," said Billy, the Artful, "so I thought----"
"You know whether this is yours or not, don't you, Clara?" interposed the mother.
"They all look alike," murmured Clara Eversham, eying helplessly the silver border.
Billy permitted himself to look at Miss Beecher. That young person was looking at him and there was a disconcerting gaiety in her expression, but at sight of him she turned her head, faintly coloring. He judged she recalled his unmannerly eavesdropping that afternoon.
"Pardon--excuse me--but that is to me belonging," panted an agitated but firm voice behind them, and two stout and beringed hands seized upon the glittering shawl in Miss Eversham's lax grasp. "It but just now off me falls," and the German lady looked belligerent accusation upon the defrauding Billy.
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