They proceeded to a table in a quiet corner, where, behind some palms and tall ferns, they would not be likely to be observed, and then gave an order for a tempting lunch, the preparation of which would require some time.

While waiting for it, Ray confided his trouble to Mona.

"My father is really going to marry Mrs. Montague," was the somewhat abrupt communication which he made with pale lips and troubled brow.

"I have known it for some time, but did not like to speak of it to you,"

Mona quietly replied.

"You have known it for some time?" Ray exclaimed. "For how long, pray?"

"Ever since we were at Hazeldean."

"Impossible! for my father did not make his proposal until after our return to New York."

"But she certainly told me the night of the ball, when she came up stairs to retire, that she expected to marry Mr. Palmer," Mona returned, and flushing at the memory of that conversation, which, however, she had been too proud to repeat to her lover.

"Well, she may have expected to marry him, and I imagine that his own mind was pretty well made up at that time," said Ray, gloomily, "but the matter was not settled until after our return, as I said before, and the engagement is to be formally announced this afternoon at the high-tea given by Mrs. Montague."

Ah! this explained to Mona what had puzzled her just before leaving home--why Mrs. Montague had once or twice appeared embarra.s.sed during their conversation, why she had abruptly paused in the midst of that last sentence, and why, too, she had been so unusually particular about her personal appearance for a home-reception.

She mentioned these circ.u.mstances to Ray, and asked, in conclusion, if he were also invited to the high-tea.

"Yes; but, really, I am so heart-sick over the affair I feel as if I cannot go. I am utterly at a loss to understand this strange infatuation," he continued, with a heavy sigh. "My father, until this meeting with Mrs. Montague, has been one of the most quiet and domestic of men. He went occasionally into society, but never remained late at any reception, and never bestowed especial attention upon any lady. He has been a dear lover of his home and his books. We have seldom entertained since my mother's death, except in an informal way, and he has always appeared to have a strong antipathy to gay society women."

"How strange! for Mrs. Montague is an exaggerated type of such a woman; her life is one continual round of excitement, pleasure, and fashion,"

Mona remarked, "and I am sure," she added, with a glance of sympathy at her lover's downcast face, "that Mr. Palmer would soon grow very weary of such an existence."

"I am certain of it, also," Ray answered, "and more than that, from what I have learned of the woman through you--of her character and disposition--I fear that my father is doomed to a wretched future, if he marries her."

"I have similar forebodings," Mona said, thoughtfully, as her mind recurred to the conversation of the morning. "How would it do for you to tell your father what you know? It might influence him, and I shall not mind having my secret revealed if he can be saved from future unhappiness."

"I fear it is too late for that now. He is so thoroughly infatuated and has committed himself so far, I doubt the wisdom of seeking to undeceive him," Ray responded, with a sigh. "What powers of fascination that woman has!" he exclaimed, with some excitement. "She charms every one, young and old. I myself experienced something of it until you opened my eyes to her real character."

"Such women are capable of doing a great deal of harm. Oh, Ray, I believe that society ruins a great many people. Perhaps it was well that my career in it was so suddenly terminated," Mona remarked, gravely.

Ray smiled fondly down upon her.

"I do not believe it could ever have harmed you very much," he said, tenderly; "but I believe very many young people are unfitted for the higher duties of life where they give themselves up to society to such an extent as they do here in New York; it is such a shallow, unreal kind of life. We will be social--you and I, Mona, when we make a home for ourselves; we will be truly hospitable and entertain our friends for the good that we can get and give, but not merely for the sake of show and of being 'in the swim.'"

The smile and look which concluded these observations brought the quick blood to the cheeks of the fair girl, and made another pair of eyes, which were peering at them through the palms and ferns, flash with malicious anger and jealousy.

"I have so few friends now, Ray, I fear we shall not have many to entertain," Mona replied, a little sadly.

"I do not believe you know how many you really have, dear. You disappeared from social life so suddenly, leaving everybody in the dark regarding your whereabouts, that very few had an opportunity to prove their friendship," Ray said, soothingly. "However," he added, his fine lips curling a trifle, "we shall know how to treat those who have met and ignored you. But have you heard anything from Mr. Corbin since I saw you last?"

"No, and I fear that I shall not," Mona replied, with a sigh. "I do not see any possible way by which he can prove my ident.i.ty. As you know, I have not a single item of reliable evidence in my possession, although I firmly believe that such evidence exists, and is at this moment in Mrs.

Montague's keeping."

She then related how her suspicions had been freshly aroused by the conversation of that morning, and Ray was considerably excited over the matter.

"Why did you not tell me before that Louis Hamblin made himself obnoxious to you at Hazeldean?" he questioned, flushing with indignation, for Mona had also told him of her interview with the young man in the library, in connection with the story of Mrs. Montague's more recent proposal to her.

"Because I believed that I had myself thoroughly extinguished him," Mona answered, smiling; "and besides," she continued, with a modest blush, "I believe that no true, considerate woman will ever mention her rejection of a suitor to a third party, if she can avoid doing so."

Ray gave her an admiring glance.

"I wish there were more women in the world of the same mind," he said.

"But mind, dear, I will not have you annoyed about the matter further.

If, after what you have told Mrs. Montague to-day, young Hamblin should presume to renew the subject again, you are to tell me and I will deal with him as he deserves. It certainly is rather suspicious her wanting you to become his wife. Why, it is in everybody's mouth that she has been trying for months to make a match between him and Kitty McKenzie," he concluded, thoughtfully.

"Kitty McKenzie is far too good a girl for such a fate; but I am afraid she is really quite fond of him," said Mona, with a regretful sigh. "But shall you come up to Forty-ninth street this afternoon, Ray?"

"I suppose I must, or people will talk," he replied, dejectedly. "If my father is determined to marry the woman it will create gossip, I suppose, if I appear to discountenance it; so all that remains for me to do is to put the best possible face upon the matter and treat my future step-mother with becoming deference."

"What do you suppose she will say when she learns the truth about us?"

Mona inquired, with an amused smile. "I imagine there will be something of a breeze about my ears, for she informed me this morning that I need have no hopes or aspirations regarding you upon the strength of any attention that you bestowed upon me at Hazeldean, for--you were already engaged," and a little ripple of merry laughter concluded the sentence.

Ray smiled, delighted to see the sunshine upon his dear one's face, and to hear that musical sound. Yet he remarked, with some sternness:

"I think she is overstepping her jurisdiction to meddle in your affairs to such an extent. But here comes our lunch," he interposed, as the waiter appeared, bearing a well laden tray of tempting viands.

"Then let us drop all unpleasant topics, and give ourselves up to the enjoyment of it," said Mona, looking up brightly. "A light heart and a mind at ease greatly aid digestion, you know."

She would not allow him to refer to anything of a disagreeable nature after that, but strove, in her bright, sweet way, to banish the cloud from his face, and succeeded so well that before their meal was ended they had both apparently forgotten Louis Hamblin and his aunt, and the unsuitable engagement about to be announced, and were only conscious that they were there together, and all in all to each other.

But time was flying, and Mona knew that she must get back to a.s.sist Mrs.

Montague with her toilet for the high-tea.

"It was very nice of you, Ray, to bring me here for this delightful lunch," she said, as they arose from the table, with a regretful sigh that they must separate, and began to draw on her gloves.

"We shall take all our lunches together before long, I hope, my darling,"

he whispered, fondly; "half the stipulated time is gone, Mona, and I shall certainly claim you at the end of another six weeks."

Mona flushed, but she did not reply, and her heart grew heavy, for she knew she should not be willing to become Ray's wife until she could prove the circ.u.mstances of her birth.

She longed to tell him how she felt about it--she longed to know how he would feel toward her if they should discover that any stain rested upon her.

But she dare not broach the subject--a feeling of shame and humiliation kept her silent, and she resolved to wait and hope until the six weeks should pa.s.s.

They went out together, but still followed by that pair of malignant eyes, which had, however, been cautiously veiled, as was also the face in which they were set.

Ray walked with his betrothed to a corner, where he helped her aboard a car, and then returned to his store.

Later, on that same day, a gay company of gentlemen and ladies filled Mrs. Montague's s.p.a.cious and elegant rooms, where she, in her elaborate and becoming costume, entertained in her most charming manner.

Mr. Palmer had come very early and secured a private interview, previous to the arrival of the other guests, and it was noticeable that, as the lady received, a new and magnificent solitaire gleamed upon the third finger of her left hand.

People surmised, very generally, what this meant, even before it was whispered throughout the rooms that the engagement of Mr. Palmer and the beautiful widow was formally announced. It was not very much of a surprise, either, as such an event had been predicted for some time.