hideous--"

Elaine laid her hand gently across her fiance's mouth.

"You're acting jealous, Mark, and there's no need to," she said softly.
"You won. Remember? I'm marrying you tomorrow!"

Mark's hands stole around her slim, supple waist and drew her to him.
Her thinly-clad body was warm and fragrant in his arms.

"I guess I keep forgetting," he said huskily. "Part of me still can't
quite seem to believe it's true. That we're going to be together
always."

The girl's ripe lips curved in a little smile. Slender fingers caressed
her sweetheart's tanned cheek.

"You can believe it now, Mark," she whispered. "I'm yours. All yours.
Forever."

And then, ever so gently, she drew his head down. Their lips met. Clung
with young love's ardor.

At last Mark straightened. He drew a deep breath.

"You'd better go to bed now, dear," he advised. "Tomorrow's going to be
a hard day."

Another pause. Then a wry smile crossed his lips.

"Besides, your father might not understand why you're wandering around
the house with me in the middle of the night, even though we are going
to be married tomorrow. That outfit you're wearing is subject to a lot
of misinterpretation."

* * * * *

Elaine matched his smile with one of her own. She smoothed the
diaphanous, curve-revealing negligee that displayed her charms to such
advantage.

"Oh, he'd understand, all right," she retorted. "Only I'm afraid he'd
understand a lot of things that aren't true." She gave vent to a
dolorous sigh that the merriment sparkling in her blue eyes denied.
"Father's all French, you know. He's quick to understand situations
where young ladies appear _en deshabille_."

They turned to go. But again the Vance mirror caught Mark's eye.

"Strange-looking affair, isn't it?" he commented.

Elaine nodded. Drawing a comb from some place of concealment about her,
she seated herself on a bench before the glass.

A unique creation, that mirror. Circular and fully three feet in
diameter, it now stood propped on top of a boudoir table. At first
glance its surface somehow gave an impression of queer, concentric waves
rippling through it. Yet the reflections it threw back were true;
perfect.

The frame was just as paradoxical. It looked as if it once had been
garishly ornate. Now, however, age had transmuted gaudiness to an
indefinable antique charm.

"Isn't it lovely?" breathed Elaine. She drew the comb through her hair.
Watched th