examined.

"Here is that exquisite point-lace fan," she said, lifting a long, narrow
box, and removing the lid. "I never had a point-lace fan until I bought
it for myself; and here is that picture; I never had his likeness painted
on ivory and set in a frame of rubies! Ha! Miss Mona, you were a favored
wench, but your triumph was of short duration."

It is impossible to convey any idea of the bitterness of the woman's
tone, or the vindictiveness of her look, as she took from a velvet case
the picture of a handsome young man, of perhaps twenty-five years,
painted on ivory, and encircled with a costly frame of gold set with
rubies.

"You loved her," she cried, fiercely, as she gazed with all her soul in
her eyes upon that attractive face, while her whole frame shook with
emotion. "Nothing was too costly or elegant for your petted darling; her
slightest wish was your law, while for me you had scarcely a word or a
look of affection; you were like ice upon which not even the lava-tide of
my idolatry could make the slightest impression. Is it any wonder that I
hated her for having absorbed all that I craved? Is it strange that I
exulted when they drove her from her apartments in Paris, believing her
to be a thing too vile to be tolerated by respectable people. Well, she
had his love, but I had him--I vowed that I would win, and--I did."

But, evidently, the memory of her triumph was not a very comforting one,
for she suddenly dropped her face upon the hands that still clasped the
picture, and burst into a torrent of tears, while deep sobs shook her
frame, and she seemed utterly overwhelmed by the tempest of her grief.