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 “Cheap! Aunt Ruth, do you realise that this necklace was made by hand and worn by an Egyptian princess before the days of Moses?”

“Oh, well—if you want to believe Jarback Priest’s fairy tales,” said Aunt Ruth, much amused. “I wouldn’t wear it in public if I were you, Em’ly. The Murrays never wear shabby jewelry. You're not going to leave it on tonight, child?”

“Of course I am. The last time it was worn was probably at the court of Pharaoh in the days of the oppression. Now, it will go to Kit Barrett’s snowshoe dance. What a difference! I hope the ghost of Princess Mena won't haunt me tonight. She may resent my sacrilege—who knows? But it was not I who rifled her tomb, and somebody would have this if I didn’t—somebody who mightn’t think of the little princess at all. I’m sure she would rather that it was warm and shining about my neck than in some grim museum for thousands of curious, cold eyes to stare at. She was ‘sweet of heart,’ Dean says—she won’t grudge me her pretty pendant. Lady of Egypt, whose kingdom has been poured on the desert sands like spilled wine, I salute you across the gulf of time.”

Emily bowed deeply and waved her hand adown the vistas of dead centuries.

“Such high-falutin’ language is very foolish,” sniffed Aunt Ruth.

“Oh, most of that last sentence was a quotation from Dean’s letter,” said Emily candidly.

“Sounds like him,” was Aunt Ruth’s contemptuous agreement. “Well, think your Venetian beads would be better than that heathenish-looking thing. Now, mind you don’t stay too late, Em’ly. Make Andrew bring you home not later than twelve.”

Emily was going with Andrew to Kitty Barrett’s dance—a privilege quite graciously accorded since Andrew was one of the elect people. Even when she did not get home until one o’clock Aunt Ruth overlooked it. But it left