who is honest as the day, and she sent at once for Dr. Fair, next door, but it was some time before he could be found, and in the excitement it seems quite possible the ring might have been stolen.  After Dr. Fair had partially revived the old man, he noticed the open safe and closed it.  Cousin Thomas never regained consciousness entirely, and died the next day.  It must have been a week before the ring was missed.  The strange thing is that there were jewels of greater value in the safe, which were not disturbed.”

“Don’t you wish your uncle would give it to you if it is found?” Charlotte asked Rosalind.

“In his will Mr. Gilpin said he left the ring to Allan, who was aware of his wishes in regard to it.  I have no idea what those wishes were, but I hardly think he had Rosalind in mind,” Miss Betty said, smiling.

“Uncle Allan must know what he meant.  How strange!”

“Like a story, isn’t it?” said Belle.

“Have they looked everywhere for it?” continued Rosalind.

“Yes; the most, thorough search has been made, to no effect.”

The rest of the evening was spent in games, and from the laughing that went on, Miss Betty’s guests must have enjoyed themselves.  When Martin came for her and Rosalind said good night to her new friends, she did not feel like the same girl who had had to go to the magician to be cheered a few days ago.  The face she lifted to the stars as she walked home was very bright indeed.

Grandmamma and Aunt Genevieve sat in the hall.

“Have you had a pleasant time?” Mrs. Whittredge asked.

“A beautiful time, grandmamma.  I do like to know people.  And Miss Betty—­I mean Cousin Betty—­told us about the lost ring and—­was she my aunt?—­Patricia?  Did you ever see her, grandmamma?”

“Yes, a number of times.  She visited at our house when I was a child.  She died a few years after my marriage.  Your Aunt Genevieve is thought to resemble the miniature done of her in her girlhood.”

Rosalind looked in the direction of the arm-chair where her aunt half reclined, her eyes on a book, her clear profile in relief against the dark leather, the mellow lamp-light bringing out the copper tints in her hair.  “Then I know she must have been lovely,” she said.

Mrs. Whittredge laughed, and Genevieve lifted her eyes to ask, “What is that?”

“Rosalind is sure Patricia Gilpin must have been handsome if you resemble her,” her mother replied.

Genevieve shrugged her shoulders, and her lips curled a little, although she smiled; “Thank you, Rosalind,” she said.

“I don’t believe,” thought Rosalind, as she slowly prepared for bed, “that Miss Patricia—­Aunt Patricia—­looked as if she didn’t care about anything.  She bore hard things bravely, Miss Betty said, and I believe people who do that have a kind look.”  Here her glance fell upon the miniature on her dressing-table.  The sweet eyes smiled on her.  Taking it up she pressed it to her lips; “Like you, my dear beautiful,” she whispered.