He took a case from his pocket as he spoke, and slipped it into her hands.

Mona looked up surprised.

“But you have already given me the mirror, Uncle Walter,” she said.  “I could not have anything that I should prize more.”

“Ah, well, but I could not let a birthday go by without spending a little money on you,” he returned, fondly; “so look at your gifts, and let me see how they will fit.”

Mona obediently opened the case, and found within a pair of narrow gold bands, studded with diamonds, for her wrists.

“They are lovely,” she cried, a smile of pleasure breaking over her face, “and—­I really believe it is the very pair that I was admiring in Tiffany’s window only a few days ago!”

“I shouldn’t wonder—­sometimes the fairies whisper maidens’ wishes in older ears, eh?” Mr. Dinsmore archly returned, and glad to see the gloom fading from her face.

“The fairies are great tell-tales then, for you are continually anticipating my wishes,” Mona replied.  “But,” she added, glancing at the clock, “I have some little things to attend to before going out this evening, and I must be about them.  A thousand thanks for my diamonds,” and she kissed him softly as she said it, “and I shall surely wear them to-night.”

“And here is your mirror,” he said, taking the box containing it from the drawer of his desk.  “Remember your promise, dear, never to part with it.”

“It shall never go out of my possession,” she gravely replied, as she took it, and then quietly left the room.

She was very grave as she went slowly up stairs, and once or twice a long, sobbing sigh escaped her.

“Oh, why did such a thought ever come to me?” she murmured.  “It is too dreadful, and I will not harbor it for a moment.  He is good and noble—­his whole life has been grand and above reproach, and I love him with all my heart.”

That evening, about seven o’clock, Mona Montague went down to the elegant drawing-room of her uncle’s residence, exquisitely clad for the opera.

Her dress was a fine black lace, of a delicate and beautiful pattern, made over old gold silk, with the corsage cut low and sleeveless, thus leaving her neck and arms to gleam like alabaster through the meshes of delicate lace.  The heavy edging at the throat was just caught together with a shell of Etruscan gold, studded with diamonds.  Costly solitaires gleamed in her ears, while her dainty wrists were encircled with Mr. Dinsmore’s gift of the morning.  Upon her head she wore a jaunty hat of black lace, surrounded by a wreath of old gold crushed roses, that contrasted beautifully with her clear, fair skin and dark eyes.  Her face was bright with anticipation, her cheeks were slightly flushed, and she was a vision of loveliness to gladden the heart of any beauty-loving man.

“I have come down to receive your verdict, Uncle Walter,” she remarked, smiling, and sweeping him a graceful courtesy, as he threw down his paper and arose to meet her, “Will I do?”