The Time Mirror

[Sidenote: Here was a strange mirror indeed! It reflected an image all right, but not an image from the same era in history!]

Pale moonlight spilled through the window and over the wedding gifts that crowded the little room.

"And this mirror, darling?" Mark Carter asked. "Who sent it?"

A sudden flicker of worry flashed across Elaine Duchard's lovely face. She bit her lower lip nervously. Pretended to inspect a great silver punchbowl that stood on a nearby table.

"Who did you say sent the mirror?" her sweetheart repeated.

Still another moment of taut hesitation. At last:

"It's from Adrian Vance, Mark."

"Adrian Vance!"

Mark spat the name as if it were an epithet.

"Sshhh! Not so loud!" A pause. "He's an old friend, dear. I can't forbid him to send us a present. After all he's just trying to be polite."

The man's brown eyes were smouldering. "Those were fine company manners he showed off the night you told him you were going to marry me instead of him!"

Then, savagely:

"I should have knocked out a mouthful of that damned antique dealer's teeth right then! Of all the gall--threatening you; saying you'd regret turning him down--"

Again the girl silenced him.

"Adrian always expected to marry me," she reminded. "My refusal broke him up terribly. He was disappointed. Angry. So he said a lot of things he didn't really mean. Now he's trying to make up for it."

"I still don't like that damned Vance! He's just the kind of snake who'd figure out a way to get revenge. Something hideous--"

Elaine laid her hand gently across her fiance's mouth.

"You're acting jealous, Mark, and there's no need to," she said softly. "You won. Remember? I'm marrying you tomorrow!"

Mark's hands stole around her slim, supple waist and drew her to him. Her thinly-clad body was warm and fragrant in his arms.

"I guess I keep forgetting," he said huskily. "Part of me still can't quite seem to believe it's true. That we're going to be together always."

The girl's ripe lips curved in a little smile. Slender fingers caressed her sweetheart's tanned cheek.

"You can believe it now, Mark," she whispered. "I'm yours. All yours. Forever."

And then, ever so gently, she drew his head down. Their lips met. Clung with young love's ardor.

At last Mark straightened. He drew a deep breath.

"You'd better go to bed now, dear," he advised. "Tomorrow's going to be a hard day."

Another pause. Then a wry smile crossed his lips.

"Besides, your father might not understand why you're wandering around the house with me in the middle of the night, even though we are going to be married tomorrow. That outfit you're wearing is subject to a lot of misinterpretation."

* * * * *

Elaine matched his smile with one of her own. She smoothed the diaphanous, curve-revealing negligee that displayed her charms to such advantage.

"Oh, he'd understand, all right," she retorted. "Only I'm afraid he'd understand a lot of things that aren't true." She gave vent to a dolorous sigh that the merriment sparkling in her blue eyes denied. "Father's all French, you know. He's quick to understand situations where young ladies appear en deshabille."

They turned to go. But again the Vance mirror caught Mark's eye.

"Strange-looking affair, isn't it?" he commented.

Elaine nodded. Drawing a comb from some place of concealment about her, she seated herself on a bench before the glass.

A unique creation, that mirror. Circular and fully three feet in diameter, it now stood propped on top of a boudoir table. At first glance its surface somehow gave an impression of queer, concentric waves rippling through it. Yet the reflections it threw back were true; perfect.