He had been already more than a year in Copenhagen when I discovered how it was between them, or rather thought I had done so, from seeing one night when she came into my room in her night-dress, which was accidentally parted at the bosom, the betrothal-ring, so peculiar as not readily to be mistaken, which Claude Bainrothe had once given to me, suspended from the button of her chemisette by a small gold chain, so as to lie constantly against her heart.  How her pride had ever stooped to receive and wear the pledge originally given to another it was difficult for me to conceive, and little less bitter, I confess, at first to know.  I thought all care was over as to Claude Bainrothe and his affairs, but a qualm of anguish surged through my whole being, the dying throe, I well believe, of trust and affection, when I beheld this carefully-guarded token.

As Evelyn raised her hand to fasten her night-robe, through the accidental opening of which I had caught sight of my repudiated treasure, I noticed on one of her slender fingers, from which all other incumbrances in the way of rings had been removed for the night, a circlet of plain gold such as is generally used for the symbol of the marriage-rite, an engagement-ring, I then supposed it.

“Let me see your wedding-ring, Evelyn,” I said, laughingly, to conceal my embarrassment.  She colored slightly.

“What, that little affair of a philopoena?” she rejoined.  “Oh, I promised not to take it off until certain things were accomplished, nor to tell the name of the giver either, so don’t question about it, ’an you love me, Hal!’”

“Was it sent from beyond the seas?” I questioned, seriously, “I shall ask nothing more.”

“What an idea!  No, on my honor, it was not.  There!  I will not tell you another word about it, so don’t bore me, Miriam.  I thought you, yourself, despised a catechist, and undue curiosity.  What I came here, to-night, for, was not to be catechised, or ‘put to the question,’ but to ask a favor which you must grant, dear prophetess, whether you will or no.  Now, don’t refuse your Eva,” and she kissed me affectionately; “I am going to give a grand fancy ball, or rather, we are, the same thing of course, and I want you to lay off your deep mourning for a time” (hers had been already entirely put aside), “and appear as night.  You can still wear black, you know; I shall be Morning, and Mabel, Hesper.  Now, won’t it be a lovely idea?  Hesper, you know, is both morning and evening star, and can hover between us, bearing a torch, and dressed a la Grecque.  Is not that appropriate—­our little link of sisterhood?  It cannot fail to make an impression.  I consider it, myself, a capital idea.  You can wear your mother’s diamonds at last, which Mr. Bainrothe means to hand over to you to-morrow as your birthday gift—­not that, exactly, either,” seeing my rising scorn, “but as a token of respect suitable for the occasion.  He might hold on to them two years longer you know, legally,” she added, carelessly.