Berenice smiled strangely, for all at once there had come to her the answer to her prayer of last night to be shown some way to bring her enemy to confusion.
She forced herself to look at Rosalind, courteously, but feeling all the while like a traitor, as she said:
“But cannot the gown be patched up for the ceremony, some way, with a scrap of lace? I think I might help you, as I have some fine lace, and am rather skillful with the needle. Will you show it to me?”
“Willingly!” cried Rosalind, falling into the trap, and hastening to secure the gown that was folded away in a dressing bag she had brought.
She came back and unfolded the tissue wrappers and spread the lovely web of lace open before their eyes.
There, in the front flounce, was the great tear, as big as your hand, marring all its beauty. Every one began to exclaim over it in sympathy with Rosalind.
“Now, a needle and some very fine thread, please,” said trembling Berenice, and when they were supplied she opened a large gold locket on her bosom and drew from it a little wad of lace that when fitted into the torn flounce matched the pattern perfectly.
Several voices cried, in unison:
“The missing piece of lace—how wonderful!”
“You found it!” cried Rosalind, in amazement. “But where?”