The Diamond Pin. Wells Carolyn

Iris," and Mrs. Pell nodded her head, "that pin is certainly the most valuable thing I possess."

      "It must be a marvel, then," said Mr. Bowen, his eyes opening wide, "for I've heard great tales of the Pell collection. I thought they were all unset jewels."

      "Most of them are," Mrs. Pell spoke carelessly, "but the pin I shall leave to Iris – "

      At that moment dinner was announced, and the group went to the dining room. This large and pleasant room was in front on the right, and back of it were the pantries and kitchens. A long rear extension provided the servants' quarters, which were numerous and roomy. The house was comfortable rather than pretentious, and though the village folk wondered why so rich a woman continued to live in such an old-fashioned home, those who knew her well realized that the place exactly met Ursula Pell's requirements.

      The dinner was in harmony with the atmosphere of the home. Plentiful, well-cooked food there was, but no attempt at elaborate confections or any great formality of service.

      One concession to modernity was a small dish of stuffed dates at each cover, and of these Mrs. Pell spoke in scornful tones.

      "Some of Iris' foolishness," she observed. "She wants all sorts of knick-knacks that she considers stylish!"

      "I don't at all, auntie," denied the girl, flushing with annoyance, "but when you ate those dates at Mrs. Graham's the other day, you enjoyed them so much I thought I'd make some. She gave me her recipe, and I think they're very nice."

      "I do, too," agreed Mrs. Bowen, eating a date appreciatively, and feeling sorry for Iris' discomfiture. For though many girls might not mind such disapproval, Iris was of a sensitive nature, and cringed beneath her aunt's sharp words.

      In an endeavor to cover her embarrassment, she picked up a date from her own portion and bit off the end.

      From the fruit spurted a stream of jet black ink, which stained Iris' lips, offended her palate, and spilling on her pretty white frock, utterly ruined the dainty chiffon and lace.

      She comprehended instantly. Her aunt, to annoy her, had managed to conceal ink in one of the dates, and place it where Iris would naturally pick it up first.

      With an angry exclamation the girl left the table and ran upstairs.

      CHAPTER II

      THE LOCKED ROOM

      Ursula Pell leaned back in her chair and shrieked with laughter.

      "She will have stuffed dates and fancy fixin's, will she?" she cried; "I just guess she's had enough of those fallals now!"

      "It quite spoiled her pretty frock," said Mrs. Bowen, timidly remonstrant.

      "That's nothing, I'll buy her another. Oh, I did that pretty cleverly, I can tell you! I took a little capsule, a long, thin one, and I filled it with ink, just as you'd fill a fountain pen. Oh, oh! Iris was so mad! She never suspected at all; and she bit into that date – oh! oh! wasn't it funny!"

      "I don't think it was," began Mrs. Bowen, but her husband lifted his eyebrows at her, and she said no more.

      Though a clergyman, Alexander Bowen was not above mercenary impulses, and the mere reference, whether it had been meant or not, to a jeweled chalice made him unwilling to disapprove of anything such an influential hostess might do or say.

      "Iris owes so much to her aunt," the rector said smilingly, "of course she takes such little jests in good part."

      "She'd better," and Ursula Pell nodded her head; "if she knows which side her bread is buttered, she'll kiss the hand that strikes her."

      "If it doesn't strike too hard," put in Mrs. Bowen, unable to resist some slight comment.

      But again her husband frowned at her to keep silent, and the subject was dropped.

      It was fully a quarter of an hour before Iris returned, her face red from scrubbing and still showing dark traces of the ink on chin and cheek. She wore a plain little frock of white dimity, and smiled as she resumed her seat at the table.

      "Now, Aunt Ursula," she said, "if you've any more ink to spill, spill it on this dress, and not on one of my best ones."

      "Fiddlestrings, Iris, I'll give you a new dress – I'll give you two. It was well worth it, to see you bite into that date! My! you looked so funny! And you look funny yet! There's ink marks all over your face!"

      Mrs. Pell shook with most irritating laughter, and Iris flushed with annoyance.

      "I know it, auntie; but I couldn't get them off."

      "Never mind, it'll wear off in a few days. And meantime, you can wrap it up in a blotter!"

      Again the speaker chuckled heartily at her own wit, and the rector joined her, while Mrs. Bowen with difficulty achieved a smile.

      She was sorry for Iris, for this sort of jesting offended the girl more than it would most people, and the kind-hearted woman knew it. But, afraid of her husband's disapproval, she said nothing, and smiled, at his unspoken behest.

      Nor was Iris herself entirely forgiving. One could easily see that her calmly pleasant expression covered a deeper feeling of resentment and exasperation. She had the appearance of having reached her limit, and though outwardly serene was indubitably angry.

      Her pretty face, ludicrous because of the indelible smears of ink, was pale and strained, and her deep brown eyes smoldered with repressed rage. For Iris Clyde was far from meek. Her nature was, first of all, a just one, and, to a degree, retaliatory, even revengeful.

      "Oh, I see your eyes snapping, Iris," exclaimed her aunt, delighted at the girl's annoyance, "I'll bet you'll get even with me for this!"

      "Indeed I will, Aunt Ursula," and Iris' lips set in a straight line of determination, which, in conjunction with the ink stains, sent Mrs. Pell off into further peals of hilarity.

      "Be careful, Iris," cautioned Mr. Bowen, himself wary, "if you get even with your aunt, she may leave the diamond pin to me instead of to you."

      "Nixie," returned Iris saucily, "you've promised that particular diamond pin to me, haven't you, Auntie?"

      "I certainly have, Iris. However often I change my will, that pin is always designated as your inheritance."

      "Where is it?" asked Mr. Bowen, curiously; "may I not see it?"

      "It is in a box in my lawyer's safe, at this moment," replied Mrs. Pell. "Mr. Chapin has instructions to hand the box over to Iris after my departure from this life, which I suppose you'd like to expedite, eh, Iris?"

      "Well, I wouldn't go so far as to poison you," Iris smiled, "but I confess I felt almost murderous when I ran up to my room just now and looked in the mirror!"

      "I don't wonder!" exclaimed Mrs. Bowen, unable to stifle her feelings longer.

      "Tut! tut!" cried the rector, "what talk for Christian people!"

      "Oh, they don't mean it," said Mrs. Pell, "you must take our chaff in good part, Mr. Bowen."

      Dinner over, the Bowens almost immediately departed, and Iris, catching sight of her disfigured face in a mirror, turned angrily to her aunt.

      "I won't stand it!" she exclaimed. "This is the last time I shall let you serve me in this fashion. I'm going to New York to-morrow, and I hope I shall never see you again!"

      "Now, dearie, don't be too hard on your old auntie. It was only a joke, you know. I'll get you another frock – "

      "It isn't only the frock, Aunt Ursula, it's this horrid state of things generally. Why, I never dare pick up a thing, or touch a thing – without the chance of some fool stunt making trouble for me!"

      "Now, now, I will try not to do it any more. But, don't talk about going away. If you do, I'll cut you out of my will entirely."

      "I don't care. That would be better than living in a trick house! Look at my face! It will be days before these stains wear off! You ought to be ashamed of yourself, Aunt Ursula!"

      The old lady looked roguishly penitent, like a naughty child.

      "Oh,