She soon came in, looking much brighter and fresher than she had been the day before, and he noticed that she was in her traveling-dress.

Could she be contemplating leaving the hotel? he asked himself, with a sudden sense of depression.

She smiled and bowed as she passed him, and he remarked, in a low tone, as he returned her salutation: 

“I will wait for you in the reception-room.”

She nodded assent, but a gleam of amusement shot into her expressive eyes, which he interpreted to mean that she believed he had failed in his errand and would be obliged to acknowledge the truth of what she had told him about her ornaments.

This thought greatly elated him, and he chuckled to himself as he imagined her astonishment when he should inform her of the offer of the diamond merchant.

He soon finished his breakfast and repaired to the reception-room, where he drew forth his morning paper to while away the time until Mrs. Bently should appear.

But she did not hurry, and he began to grow impatient.  Evidently she had no faith in the genuineness of the stones, and had no intention of spoiling her breakfast just to be told what she already knew.

It was nearly half an hour before she came to him, but he could forgive her for making him wait, for her greeting was unusually cordial, and she seemed lovelier than ever in her pretty dress of dark gray trimmed with black.  It was made very high at the throat, and fitted her perfect form like a glove.  Her face was like a flawless pearl, and he had begun to think the soft ruddy rings that crowned her milk-white brow and made her look so youthful, the most beautiful hair in the world.

He sprang to his feet, his face all aglow, and went forward to take the hand she extended to him.

“I have such good news for you, Mrs. Bently,” he said, as he drew the little box from his pocket.  “Your gems are real after all,” and he slipped them into her hand as he spoke.

She lifted a startled, incredulous look to his face.

“You cannot mean it—­you are only jesting!” she cried.

“Indeed no; I would not jest and I do mean just what I have said,” he persisted.

“Impossible!  Why, Mr. Cutler, I gave less than ten dollars for the crescents.”

The young man looked blank.

“Then some one has made an expensive blunder, and set real diamonds for you instead of paste.  Where did you purchase them—­or order them made?”

“Of Hardowin & Leroux, under the Palais Royal, Paris, less than a year ago,” Mrs. Bently promptly responded.

“It does not seem possible that any one could have made such a costly mistake,” Justin Cutler said, looking perplexed.  “It is almost incredible.”

“Yes, and I am just as astonished by your report,” his companion said, lifting the cover of the box and gazing upon the blazing stones.  “They do look wonderfully real,” she added, “and yet I can hardly believe, Mr. Cutler, that any one would be willing to purchase them and give me the value of diamonds.”