Explore "The White Glove" by Fred M. White on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
Totally unaware of the trend of events, Madeline was working out her own little plan of campaign. It was all very wrong and very dangerous, but she was going through with it. It was all for love of Clifford, she told herself again and again. There was plenty of time--she had no mind to go to Tunbridge Wells before the afternoon train--and there was a lot to do in the cottage. Madeline tried to feel cheerful; she tried to persuade herself that she was not doing anything wrong; but, all the same, she was miserably guilty.
The morning wore away heavily, and the girl was glad at length when the time came to act. She had hidden the diamonds in a fresh place in her bedroom, and she carefully locked the door behind her before taking out one of the cases. How the gems glittered and sparkled in the rays of the October sun! What a fortune, what pleasure and happiness and freedom from care lay behind those shimmering stones.