lded it up and put it away.

No such soft radiance came to them when her future mother-in-law
presented her with a beautiful diamond cross, which was an old family
heirloom, and must belong by right to Bertram's wife.

"This is of great value," Mrs. Bertram said; "and it will suit you, my
dear, you are the sort of girl who can wear diamonds, and look well in
them."

"But I like flowers best," said Beatrice, under her breath.

She kissed Mrs. Bertram, and thanked her for her gift, which she locked
away very carefully, as she knew it was of much value. But her heart was
not stirred by it as it had been by the crotchet edging which Jenny Ray
had made for her.

Mrs. Gorman Stanley gave Beatrice a large piece of Berlin wool-work; it
was not handsome, nor had it cost the good lady much, for she had picked
it up years ago at an auction. Mrs. Gorman Stanley was not a generous
person, and as the Berlin wool-work had always troubled her on account
of its magnificence, its uselessness, and the almost certainty that the
moths would get in and devour it, she thought it a good opportunity of
making an effective present, and getting rid of a household care.

Once that wool-work had been put together with love and pride. The
impossible lilies and roses, the huge peonies, and gigantic hollyhocks
which composed its pattern, had been formed, stitch by stitch, by
unknown fingers, probably now crumbled to dust.

The wool-work might have told a story could it speak, but it had never
imparted its secrets, pathetic or otherwise, to Mrs. Gorman Stanley, and
Beatrice received the gorgeous gift with little emotion, and some
shrinking away from its bad taste.

Mrs. Butler, after a great deal of consultation with her sister Maria,
decided to give the bride-elect a huge white, carved ivory brooch. This
brooch was her own favorite ornament; it was of gigantic dimensions, and
consisted of an elaborate circle of flowers, supporting the word
"Martha" in the centre.

"You'll wear it for me, love," said Mrs. Butler, "you'll never put it
on, but you'll give Martha Butler a thought."

Beatrice assured her friend that this must certainly be the case. She
was really grateful to Mrs. Butler, for she knew the old lady adored
that brooch, and it had cost her much to deprive herself of it.

Miss Peters smuggled her little gift into Beatrice's hand as they were
parting. It was a yard of Honiton lace, very old, and much darned. Bee
had often seen this