'Well done, my dear,' he had said, with the gentle smile he reserved for her alone. 'Enjoy your morning ride with good conscience.'

And she had enjoyed it, she thought with a guilty start, for it was on that day that she had met the strange young man near the Belvidere Tavern on the East River.

Pleasing thoughts of the strange young man and her prospective rendezvous with him this morning were cut short by the white-and-gold enameled clock on her mantelpiece. It pinged seven times, and Theo jumped. So late! Even on a birthday morning would her father forgive the wasted hour and a half? There was her journal to be written up for his critical survey and fifty lines of Virgil to be construed.

She slid from bed onto the waxed oaken floor, gratefully cool to her tiny feet. She flung her nightcap on the bed, and, turning, saw the source of the mysterious fragrance.

A large reed basket stood knee-high on the floor beside her. It brimmed with French roses, golden yellow as cowslip butter around their gilded hearts, and from them rose a perfume warmly sensuous, heavy with the seductive breath of their native Provence.

Theo buried her face in them with a pleased cry. She did not need the accompanying note to tell her who had stolen into her room as she slept and left them there, but the sight of the small familiar writing delighted her.

Happy birthday to my Theo. Lazy slug-a-bed, the most precious hours of the day arc wasting. But, this once, I forbear to waken you, nor will I scold you today. If you searched, you might find in the basket a token of my esteem.

Your very affectionate father
A. BURR

The note was characteristic of Aaron, with its blend of love, admonition, and small mystery.

Theo searched eagerly among the forest of thorny green stems. Never had her father failed to provide her with a superb birthday surprise. Her probing fingers found it at last—a silver box cunningly fastened to one of the roses. When she opened it, her breath caught.

An exquisite necklace sparkled up at her from black velvet. It was fashioned of diamonds and topazes, intricately set into gold filigree so as to form a cluster of jeweled rosebuds.

Her hands trembled as she held it to the light. 'Dearest Papa!' she whispered. Yellow and white, her favorite colors, and roses, her favorite flower, combined into flashing beauty.

The necklace was magnificent, far finer than anything she had seen of Lady Kitty Duer's or Mrs. Hamilton's. Aaron must have commissioned John Vanderlyn to bring it with him from France. The New York goldsmiths were not nearly skilled enough for this. And how like him to make a pretty ceremony of its presentation! He had the gift of dramatizing life for those around him. He was so generous—so extravagantly generous at times.