She had heard of Sir Charles Randal, but had never seen him before. She knew he was reputed to be very wealthy, being an only son, and there was a prospect of more property to come in the future from a rich old aunt. She had watched long for the appearance of Adrian Dredmond, hoping to captivate him at once by her charms. But when he did come, he only noticed her presence by the haughtiest bow, and a scornful curl of his lips, as his eyes fell upon the jewels she wore. He had never seen them before, but instinct told him at once that they were the ones which had caused so much trouble, and he despised her so heartily that she knew at once that all hope of winning him was useless. Therefore, after her introduction to Sir Charles, she had said to herself that the next best thing to a lord was a baronet, and being a very attractive, noble-looking man, she exerted herself to charm him. That night was one long to be remembered by Isabel Coolidge! She was, indeed, as Sir Charles had said, the most striking-looking woman in the room. Admirers flocked around her, introductions pressed upon her, men raved about her, and women yielded the palm to her for the time being; and for once she realized that she was being borne upon the topmost wave of popularity. Mrs. Coolidge was in her element, and deemed it the proudest moment of her life, and the castles which she reared for her daughter in imagination were of the grandest character. Sir Charles was evidently very much interested in the fair American, and certainly if she had only been as pure and beautiful at heart as she seemed, she would have been well worthy of all the admiration which she excited. After his third dance with her he led her away to the conservatory to rest. As they were passing through the crowd they met a white-haired, royal-looking gentleman, who, as his eyes rested upon Isabel, suddenly paused, started on, then turned back again and gave her a keen, searching glance, and finally moved on, after bowing to her companion. “Who was that?” she asked, strangely interested, and vainly attributing the man’s queer actions to admiration of herself. “That was his lordship, the Earl of Dunforth,” was the reply. Sir Charles led her to a seat beneath a spreading palm tree, then excusing himself, he went to get her an ice. She had danced a great deal, and was tired and heated. With a sigh of content, she leaned back in her seat, and drew off her gloves. Upon the forefinger of her left hand there gleamed Miss Mehetabel’s engagement ring, its central pearl surrounded with its six pure brilliants. She had been determined to make the most of her opportunity that evening, fearing she would never have another, and while putting on the other jewels, this had caught her fancy, and she had slipped it upon her finger.