CHAPTER XIII.
AT THE RECEPTION.
One evening, after Ray's entire restoration to health, he and his father attended a reception given by an old friend of Mr. Palmer's.
It was an unusually brilliant affair, for the Merrills were wealthy people, and very socially inclined, and many of the best people of New York were present.
Mr. Palmer was conversing with his host in a quiet way during a few moments while he was at liberty, when his attention was attracted by the entrance of a new arrival, whose advent seemed to create an unusual flutter of interest.
"Who is she?" he inquired, as the lady slowly approached them, smiling, bowing, and responding to the eager greetings on every hand. "She is a magnificent-looking woman."
"She is Mrs. Montague—a wealthy widow, and a great favorite in society," his friend replied, while his own eyes rested admiringly upon the lady.
"Montague! Montague!" Mr. Palmer repeated reflectively, while he said to himself: "That is the name of Ray's little lady-love; perhaps this woman is a relative, and the girl has gone to live with her. I must find out about that." Then, with this thought in view, he added, aloud; "Introduce me, will you, Merrill?"
His host glanced roguishly at him, and a smile of amusement hovered about his lips as he replied:
"Certainly, if you wish, but I give you fair warning that she is a dangerous party, and especially so to widowers—there are a dozen, more or less, who have already had their wings thoroughly singed."
Mr. Palmer smiled with an air of calm superiority.
"Well, Merrill, I admit that she is as fine-looking a woman as I have ever seen," he said, "but I believe that I am proof against the blandishments of the fair sex upon principle; for," more gravely, "I have never had any desire to change my condition since I lost my wife. My reason for requesting the introduction was, I thought Mrs. Montague might be able to give me some information regarding another lady of the same name."
"All right; an introduction you shall have; but pray take heed to my warning, all the same, and look out for yourself," was the laughing rejoinder. "Ah," as he bowed graciously to the lady approaching them, "we are very glad to be favored with your presence this evening, and now allow me to present a friend; Mrs. Montague, Mr. Palmer."
The brilliant woman shot one sweeping glance out of her expressive eyes at the gentleman and then extended her faultlessly gloved hand to him in cordial greeting.
"I am very glad to make Mr. Palmer's acquaintance," she said, graciously, "although," she added, with a charming smile, "I cannot look upon him quite as a stranger, for I have friends who frequently speak of him, and in a way that has made one wish to know him personally."
Mr. Palmer flushed slightly as he bowed in acknowledgment of such high praise, and remarked that he felt himself greatly honored.
Mrs. Montague then adroitly changed the tenor of the conversation, and kept him chatting some time, before he thought of Mona again, and when he did, he hardly knew how to broach the subject to his companion.
"Have you resided long in New York, Mrs. Montague?" he inquired, after a slight pause in their conversation.
"Only about six months, but, Mr. Palmer, during that time, I have found your city a most delightful one, socially," the lady returned.
"I understand that Mrs. Montague is quite a favorite in society, which accounts, in a measure, perhaps, for her own enjoyment of its people," the gentleman gallantly responded.
Mrs. Montague flushed slightly and lowered her white lids, modestly, for an instant, and Mr. Palmer continued:
"Allow me to ask, Mrs. Montague, if you ever met Mr. Walter Dinsmore?"
"Dinsmore—Dinsmore," repeated his fair companion, with a puzzled expression; "it seems as if I have heard the name, and yet—I am quite sure that I have met no such person since my residence in New York. Let me see," she added, as if suddenly remembering something—"did I not read in the papers, a short time ago, of the death of the gentleman—he was quite a prominent citizen, was he not?"
"Yes, and much respected; he died suddenly, leaving a large fortune. The reason I inquired if you knew him," Mr. Palmer explained, "was because he left a niece whose name is the same as yours, and I thought possibly you might be a relative of the family. Miss Mona Montague is the young lady's name."
"Mona Montague?" repeated Mrs. Montague, burying her face for an instant in the bouquet she carried as if to inhale its perfume. "No, I think not—I have no relatives in New York except a nephew, who is the same as a son to me. We came to your city entire strangers to every one. But how old is this Miss Montague?"
"About eighteen years of age, I believe. She was said to be a very beautiful girl, and every one supposed her to be Mr. Dinsmore's heiress; but it seems that he had a wife living, although he was supposed to be a widower—who claimed everything, and thus Miss Montague was rendered homeless and penniless. She has certainly disappeared from the circle in which she hitherto mingled."
"How exceedingly unfortunate!" murmured Mr. Palmer's fair listener, with apparent sympathy.
"Very," said the gentleman; "and as we—I feel deeply interested in her, I hoped, when I heard your name, that you might prove to be a relative, and could give me some information regarding her."
"I should be most happy to oblige you, Mr. Palmer," Mrs. Montague sweetly returned, "but I have never met the young lady, and I know nothing about her present circumstances. Is she a connection of yours?"
"No, madame—that is, not as yet," Mr. Palmer answered, with a slight twinge of embarrassment. "I knew Mr. Dinsmore, however, and it seems a very sad thing that his niece should be deprived of both home and fortune, as well as her only friend, especially when he was so fond of her and intended that she would inherit his property. I would give a great deal to know where she is; she would not long be without a home if I could find her."
"Does the man want to marry the girl?" was Mrs. Montague's mental query, as she glanced keenly at her companion. "I begin to believe I should like to see this wonderful creature."
"You say she is very beautiful?" she remarked, aloud.
"So I have been told, and very lovely in character, also."
"Then you have never seen her? Surely you are very philanthropic to be so deeply interested in an entire stranger," Mrs. Montague observed. Then, without giving him an opportunity to reply, she asked, abruptly: "Mr. Palmer, who is that lady just entering the room? She is very striking in appearance, and what a profusion of magnificent diamonds she has on her person!"
Mr. Palmer started at this last observation, and turned to look at the new arrival.
He saw a woman of about thirty-five, rather stout in figure, very showily dressed, and wearing a great many exquisite diamonds of great value.
The man's keen eyes went flashing over her with eager scrutiny, his heart beating rapidly, as he asked himself if it might not be possible that some of his own precious gems were among the jewels that she wore.
The suspicion flashed upon him, in spite of the fact that the woman was a guest in the house of his friend, for he knew that thieves had been found mingling with the brilliant throngs attending regular receptions in New York, and might be again.
But of course he could recognize none of them under such circumstances, and his face fell after one sweeping glance.
"It would be impossible to identify any of the stones without a glass, even if they were there," he said to himself; "for, of course, the thief, whoever she was, would have had the stones reset before wearing them anywhere."
"Yes," he said, aloud, "the lady has a fortune upon her person; but I do not know her. Speaking of diamonds," he continued, glancing at the ornaments which Mrs. Montague wore, "you will pardon me, I am sure, if I tell you that you, also, have some very fine stones. I consider myself a connoisseur regarding diamonds and capable of judging."
"Yes," Mrs. Montague quietly responded, "I have some choice ones, and I am very fond of diamonds; but I have never seen any one, unless it was an actress, with such a profusion of them as that lady. I do not think I should care to wear so many at one time, even if I possessed them."
"No, it hardly seems in good taste," Mr. Palmer replied, then added: "My son is beckoning me; will you excuse me for a moment?"
"Your son!" exclaimed the lady, with a light laugh and an arch look. "Surely, Mr. Palmer, you cannot have a son old enough to mingle in society like this?"
"Indeed I have, and you can see for yourself—he is standing yonder by that large easel," the gentleman returned, laughing also, and evidently well pleased to be regarded younger than he really was.
"I must confess my surprise," said the charming widow, as she darted a curious glance at the young man, "but since you assert it I must not doubt your word, and I will say, also, that you have every reason to be proud of your son. But—I will not detain you," she added, bowing gracefully; "only I trust that I may have the pleasure of meeting you again."
"Thank you, madame; you honor me," the diamond merchant replied, as he, too, bowed, and then passed on.
"Merrill said truly," he muttered, as he made his way through the crowd toward Ray; "she is certainly a very charming woman; I don't wonder that she is a favorite in society. Well, what is it, Ray, my boy?" he asked, as he reached his son's side.
"Did you notice that woman who entered the room a moment or two ago?" the young man asked, in a low tone.
"The one wearing so many diamonds?"
"Yes; and, father, I believe there is some of our property about her."
"I thought of it, too, Ray, but only because she wore so many stones, I suppose. We surely have no right to suspect her of being the thief," said Mr. Palmer, gravely.
"Perhaps not; but I did, all the same."
"She does not look at all like that Mrs. Vanderbeck," Mr. Palmer remarked, as he again singled out the woman, and observed her closely.
"I don't know; her form is not unlike; and put a red wig on her, she might pass—"
"Pshaw, Ray," interrupted his father, "you are letting your imagination run away with you; she cannot be the same person; her features are entirely different, and she is too stout."
"Well, that may be; but I am impressed that some of those stones belong to us," Ray said, following the woman with a critical glance.
"If any of them are ours, we have no means of identifying them," Mr. Palmer responded. "I have given them up as a dead loss, and do not believe that we shall ever discover the thief."
Ray looked very sober.
"I am very sore over that affair, father," he said, gravely. "If I had not allowed my head to be turned by that fascinating woman, I never should have lost them. She just smiled and talked all the sense out of me. I ought never to have removed my hand from that package, even to prevent a dozen tailor-made dresses from being torn, and then she could not have stolen it."
"Don't grieve over it, Ray, for it will not avail," his father returned, kindly. "Experience is the best teacher, and no one will ever rob us in the same way again."
"I do not think that is likely, and yet I cannot get over it; I cannot bear to consider the gems irretrievably lost, even yet."
"You may as well, for I am sure we shall never see any of them again," said Mr. Palmer, calmly.
"Who is this lady approaching us?" Ray asked, after a moment. "You were talking to her when I motioned to you."
Mr. Palmer glanced up.
"That is a Mrs. Montague—"
"Montague!" interrupted Ray, in a startled tone. "Can she be anything to
Mona?"
"No, nothing. I asked the question upon learning her name," his father answered.
Ray sighed heavily; then, as his glance still lingered upon the beautiful woman, he exclaimed:
"Isn't she lovely? I believe she is the purest blonde I have ever seen. Her hair is like spun gold, her features are faultless, and her neck and arms are as perfect as if sculptured from marble."
"Take care, Ray," said his father, with a sly smile; "people say that she is a perfect siren. I have myself been warned against her to-night."
"Pshaw!" retorted the young man. "Where is her husband?"
"She has none, and therein lies the danger."
"Ah! a widow! How old is she?"
"Not more than twenty-eight or thirty, I judge—at least, she does not look it in full dress, and she is very charming in manner. Merrill says that all the men, both old and young, are making fools of themselves over her."
"Well, then, you and I will not help to swell the list," said Ray, curtly, a trifle irritated that his staid and dignified father should have so much to say about the gay society woman; and turning on his heel, he moved away, with the purpose of approaching the one whose diamonds had attracted so much attention. He meant to seek an introduction, and get an opportunity to examine the stones more closely.
Fifteen minutes later he stood bowing before her, as a friend presented him, and he was long in recovering from the shock which went through him as he caught the name by which she was introduced:
"Mrs. Vanderbeck, allow me to present my friend, Mr. Palmer."
"Pardon me. Did I understand the name—Mrs. Vander_beck_?" Ray said, trying to control the rapid throbbing of his pulses, and putting a slight emphasis upon the last syllable of the name.
He was sure that the lady started and changed color as he did so, for he was watching her closely.
"No," she said; "you haven't it quite right; we spell it h-e-c-k."
But she seemed strangely ill at ease during the few moments that Ray stood conversing with her, while from time to time he caught her regarding him curiously. He did not, however, get any satisfaction from his examination of her ornaments; for among such a blazing array of diamonds it was impossible to tell if he had ever seen any of them before.
"I believe she was connected in some way with that strange affair. She may be the woman who called upon Doctor Wesselhoff to arrange for my imprisonment," he said to himself, after he had left her. "At all events," he added, resolutely, "I am going to lay the matter before Detective Rider, and see what he thinks about it."
He was more strongly confirmed in his suspicions a few minutes later, when he saw Mrs. Vanderheck bidding her host and hostess good-night, and then withdraw from the company.
About ten o'clock supper was served, and, strangely enough, after the company was seated, Ray found that his left-hand neighbor was no other than the fascinating Mrs. Montague, while, glancing beyond her, he saw that his father had acted as her escort to the table.
It annoyed him exceedingly to see them together, and to observe the gallantry with which his father was attending to the fair widow's wants.
During all the years that had elapsed since the death of his mother, Mr. Palmer had not manifested the slightest desire for the society of ladies, and Ray had never thought of such a thing as his marrying again.
But now it suddenly flashed across him: "What if this gay woman of the world, with her beauty and powers of fascination, should tempt him to make her the mistress of his home and wealth?"
The thought was far from agreeable to him, and yet he could not have told why.
He could find no fault with Mrs. Montague personally; she was beautiful in face and figure; she was delightful in manner. Why, then, did he shrink from the thought of having her come into the family?
Was he jealous? Was he selfish? Did he begrudge his father the comfort and enjoyment of a more perfect domestic life? Was he unwilling to have any one come between them? Was he fearful that his own prospects—his expectations of wealth—would be affected by such a union?
All these questions darted through his mind, and he felt shamed and humiliated by them. He could not analyze his feelings; he only knew that the thought was not pleasant to him.
Mr. Palmer soon espied his son, and leaning back in his chair, asked, with his usual genial smile:
"Well, Ray, who have you for a companion?"
"Miss Grace Merrill," he briefly responded.
"Ah! a pleasant girl; but allow me to make you acquainted with your left-hand neighbor also; Mrs. Montague, my son, Mr. Raymond Palmer."
Mrs. Montague turned to the young man with her most brilliant smile, though a gleam of amusement illuminated her lovely eyes, as she remarked the conscious flush upon the elder gentleman's face, as he performed the ceremony of introduction.
"I am delighted to meet you, Mr. Palmer," she said: "but I could hardly believe that you were the son when your father pointed you out to me."
Ray could not have been ungracious beneath the charm of her manner, even had he been naturally so, and he soon found himself disarmed of all his disagreeable reflections and basking with delight in the sunshine of her presence, her bright wit and repartee, and her sweet, rippling laugh. By the time supper was over it would have been difficult to tell who was the more ardent admirer of the fascinating widow—the father or the son.
Later in the evening she ran across him again by accident(?), and another half-hour spent in her society completed the glamour which she had thrown around him at supper, and, in spite of his assertion to the contrary, it really seemed as if Raymond Palmer was likely to help swell the "list of fools" who blindly worshiped at her shrine.