She opens the case, and is unable to repress a cry of keen admiration when her eyes rest on a band of massive gold incrusted with diamonds, her initials sparkling in the center—a bracelet which, to her dazzled eyes, might grace the wrist of a Rothschild.
She looks at it for a moment in silence, and then pushes it back to him sullenly.
"No; I do not like it. Why do you bring me these things? You know I hate jewelry of all kinds; I have told you so often enough."
He takes the ornament from her, closes the case, and pushes it aside, saying quietly:
"I am unfortunate in my selection, after all. I do not ask you to accept the bracelet if you do not like it; only I think you—"
"You are angry with me?"
"No, not exactly angry, but I am a little hurt, I think. I wonder if you received any other birthday-gift quite as ungraciously as you did mine to-day, Adelaide?"
"Any other birthday-gift?" she repeats quickly, jumping to her feet, her face flushing suddenly. "Did you mean that bracelet as a birthday-gift? Tell me—tell me—quick!"
"It matters little what I meant it for now."
"You did then, you did?" she cries impetuously, stammering a little with emotion. "Who—who told you this was my birthday? How did you find out? When did you remember? You—you did not even know my name this time last year. How—how did you know this was my birthday?"