"Don't set the house on fire, Aunt Francesca," cautioned Rose. "There's
the dinner gong."

The three went out, Madame Bernard a little ahead and the two younger
women together. Rose sat opposite the head of the table and Isabel was
placed at Madame's right. In a single glance, the guest noted that the
table was perfectly appointed. "Are you making company of me?" she
asked.

"Not at all," smiled Madame. "None the less, there is a clear
distinction between eating and dining and we endeavour to dine."

"If Aunt Francesca were on a desert island," said Rose, "I believe she
would make a grand affair of her solitary dinner, and have her coffee in
the morning before she rolled out of the sand."

The little old lady dimpled with pleasure. "I'd try to," she laughed. "I
think I'd--"

She was interrupted by a little exclamation of pleasure from Rose, who
had just discovered a small white parcel at her plate. She was untying
it with eager fingers, while her colour came and went. A card fluttered
out, face upward. "To my dear Rose, with love from Aunt Francesca," was
written in a small, quaint hand.

It was a single magnificent ruby set in a ring which exactly fitted.
Rose seldom wore rings and wondered, vaguely, how Aunt Francesca knew.

"I filled a finger of one of your gloves," said Madame, as though she