Explore "The Chase of the Golden Plate" by Jacques Futrelle on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Alone in her room, with the key turned in the lock, Miss Dollie Meredith had a perfectly delightful time. She wept and laughed and sobbed and shuddered; she was pensive and doleful and happy and melancholy; she dreamed dreams of the future, past and present; she sang foolish little ecstatic songs -- just a few words of each -- and cried again copiously. Her father had sent her to her room with a stern reprimand, and she giggled joyously as she remembered it.
"After all, it wasn't anything," she assured herself. "It was silly for him to -- to take the stuff, of course, but it's back now, and he told me the truth, and he intended to return it, anyway. " In her present mood she would have justified anything. "And he's not a thief or anything. I don't suppose father will ever give his consent, so, after all, we'll have to elope, and that will be -- perfectly delightful. Papa will go on dreadfully and then he'll be all right."