CHAPTER XIV.
LOUIS HAMBLIN IS INTERESTED IN MONA.
Mrs. Richmond Montague had a purpose in honoring Mr. Palmer and his handsome son with so much of her society on the evening of Mr. Merrill's reception.
When Mr. Palmer had mentioned the name of Mona Montague, inquiring if she was a relative of the young girl, a sudden shock had thrilled through her nerves, for it was a name which, for certain reasons, with her whole heart, she had hated, although, as she believed, she had never seen the young lady.
Before the evening was over, however, she had learned why the diamond merchant was so anxious to find the ex-heiress of Walter Dinsmore.
She discovered, by adroit references and questions, by putting this and that together, that Ray Palmer was in love with the girl; that the old gentleman favored his suit in spite of her poverty, and would willingly have sanctioned an immediate marriage if she could have been found.
"So much for this evening, and now I wish that I could find the girl," she mused, as she stood before her mirror and removed her ornaments, after returning from the reception. "So she is beautiful! I wonder if she looks like her mother—my hated rival! Ah! Mona Montague, I vowed that I would have vengeance, and I had it. You dared to come between me and the man I loved, and I swore I would crush you—I did, and now I mean to crush your child also, if I can find her. True, I won your husband after you were dead and gone, but he never loved me as he loved you, in spite of my blind idolatry for him."
She had become greatly excited over these reflections, and, sweeping into a heap the laces and jewels which she had removed from her person, she began pacing the floor with swift, angry steps.
"I wish now," she began again, after a time, "that I had gone to Walter Dinsmore's funeral, if for nothing more than to get a glimpse of the girl; but he bore me no good-will, and somehow I could not make up my mind to enter his house. I am sorry I didn't, for then I should have known this pretty little lady-love of Mr. Ray Palmer, if ever I met her again. Now I may have a long hunt for her. It was a great oversight on my part; but I never thought of her disappearing in such a mysterious way."
After a while she removed her rich evening costume, then donning a warm flannel wrapper, she seated herself before the glowing grate, clasped her hands around her knees, and, gazing upon the bed of red-hot coals, she fell to musing.
"So young Palmer is bound to marry Richmond Montague's fair daughter," she murmured, with curling lips and a bitter laugh; "and his father is only too willing, provided she can be found. Ha! ha! ha!" a soft, rippling laugh of intense amusement and scorn bursting from her red lips. "I wonder what they would say if they knew all that I know? I'd give a great deal if I could ascertain just how much the girl knows about herself. She could make a great deal of trouble for me if—"
She broke off suddenly just here, but after a few moments of thought resumed, in another strain:
"I believe I shall have to cultivate my new acquaintances. I think I can play the father against the son, and, vice versa, for it was evident to-night that both, with very little encouragement, would become my willing slaves. I imagine that the senior Palmer might make a very agreeable companion. He is reported to be rich—a diamond merchant, and I am fond of diamonds. He is certainly very gallant and not bad-looking. Yes, I think I must cultivate him; and then, if the junior member should discover his inamorata by and by, a word in the ear of the father might be sufficient to blast Miss Mona's hopes, and thus complete the work I began so successfully—at least in some respects—so many years ago. Ah, Madame Mona, you did not realize the strength of the spirit which you defied that day in Paris. I made you believe that your marriage was all a sham, but if I could have made it really so I should have been better pleased with my work, for then I should have had nothing to fear, at this late day, from your child."
It is impossible to describe the venom and hatred that were concentrated in the voice of this beautiful woman, as she thus reviewed this portion of her history, which, as can plainly be seen, had left a keen sting in her heart, notwithstanding her boasted victory over her rival.
It did not seem possible that she could be the same person, with her dark, revengeful face, her contracted brow, fiercely gleaming eyes, and that cruel, bitter curl upon her lips, who, in all the glory of her beauty and powers of fascination, had been the centre of attraction in Alexander Merrill's elegant residence less than two hours previous.
It almost seemed as if she must be possessed of a dual nature, similar to that so cleverly represented in the story of "Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde." Then, she had been all smiles, and sweetness, and graciousness, a vision of delight, a presence that charmed and pleased every one with whom she came in contact; now, she was transformed into a beautiful fiend, with a nature of spite and fury, and cruel revenge written upon every delicate feature.
She sat there in the glow of the firelight until the gilded clock on the mantel chimed the hour of two; then, with passion and pain showing themselves in her every movement, she arose, and without undressing, threw herself upon her bed, and wept herself to sleep.
* * * * *
Mona was gradually becoming accustomed to her new life, although it was so very different from the almost charmed existence which she had hitherto led, and had it not been for her grief for her uncle and on account of Ray's seeming neglect and indifference, she would not have been unhappy in her position.
Mrs. Montague was not unreasonable—she did not overwork her, although there was always plenty of sewing to be done. She rather enjoyed being busy, on the whole, while she experienced a great deal of satisfaction in knowing that she could be independent; she even felt something of pride, in thus rising above the adverse circumstances that had so unexpectedly overtaken her.
She was very careful about her health, for she knew that this sudden change from her previous active care-free life to such sedentary habits, must be a great tax upon her constitution, and so she persisted in taking exercise in the open air every day, although often she would have preferred to remain in the house.
A couple of days after her encounter with Mr. Louis Hamblin upon the steps of Mrs. Montague's residence, she was returning from her usual stroll, when the young man again suddenly appeared around the corner of a street she was passing, and almost ran into her.
"I beg your pardon, Miss Richards," he exclaimed, stopping short, and regarding her with apparent surprise, while he lifted his hat to her with great politeness, "I hope I did not startle you."
"Oh, no; and you are quite excusable," Mona responded, but somewhat astonished that he should address her by her name; but she imagined that he must have asked Mrs. Montague who she was.
She was about to hasten on, when he remarked:
"Since we are both going the same way, perhaps you will allow me to walk with you."
Mona would have preferred to proceed on her way alone, but she had not quite the courage to say so, since he appeared so courteous, so she made no reply at all.
The young man took her silence for consent, and, falling into step with her, began chatting as freely as if they had been old acquaintances.
His manner was very respectful, while there was nothing in what he said to which she could in the least object—indeed, she found him rather entertaining at first, and almost forgot, for the time, that she was Ruth Richards, the seamstress, instead of Mona Montague, the heiress, and social equal of any high-toned young man whom she might meet.
"Have you lived long in New York, Miss Richards?" Mr. Hamblin inquired, after he had rattled on about various matters, and Mona had hardly spoken. He desired to hear her talk, that he might judge of her mental caliber.
"Yes, thirteen or fourteen years," Mona replied.
Louis Hamblin frowned; he had hoped that she was a stranger there.
"Ah! Then of course New York is very familiar to you," he remarked. "Do your friends reside here?"
"No—I have no friends;" Mona said, flushing and with starting tears.
"Indeed," returned her companion, in a tone of sympathy, "I noticed that you were in mourning—I am very sorry."
Mona had heard so few words of sympathy of late that she came near losing her self-control at this, and she found herself unable to make any reply, lest her tears should fall.
"You look very delicate, too," her companion continued, bending a curious glance upon her. "I am sure you have not always lived as you are living now; it must be very hard to sit and sew all day. I hope you find my aunt considerate, Miss Richards."
Mona was astonished at this last remark which she thought was in very bad taste, and she turned a cold, questioning glance upon him.
"If at any time you should not," he went on, flippantly, "just let me know, Miss Richards, and I will see what I can do for you, for I have considerable influence with Aunt Marg."
Mona looked amazed, and wondered what he could mean by speaking in such a way of Mrs. Montague.
He had made a grand mistake in assuming that she should make a confidant of him—an entire stranger—in the event of her being overworked by his aunt.
"Mrs. Montague has been very good," she said, icily, and drawing her slight, graceful figure haughtily erect, "but—if at any time I should find my duties heavier than I could perform faithfully, I should tell her so and seek some other position."
Mr. Hamblin flushed hotly—not with embarrassment, although he had seldom had such a rebuff, but with anger and chagrin that a poor sewing-girl whom he had seen fit to patronize, should dare to give him such a set-back.
But he had no intentions of being beaten at his game, and so curbed his ire for the time.
"Pardon me," he humbly responded, "I did not mean to offend you nor to interfere, 'pon my word I didn't; only you seem so delicate and unfit for such a life; and fashionable ladies have such oceans of work to be done that they sometimes crowd their help—I—"
"Excuse me—I must leave you here; my work is waiting for me," Mona interposed, coldly, and cutting him short as they reached Mrs. Montague's residence.
She ran lightly up the steps and rang the bell before he could offer to admit her with his latch-key as before.
A servant let her in immediately, and she went directly up stairs, without deigning her would-be escort another word or look, while she carried herself with so much hauteur that he knew she resented his presumptuous familiarity.
"Hoity toity!" he muttered, with a crimson face; "our pretty seamstress hath the manner of a princess! One would almost suppose that she had been born and bred in a palace and was the mistress of millions, instead of being only a common working-girl and dependent upon the skill of her own dainty fingers for her living. But she is wonderfully interesting, aside from her beauty, and I must change my tactics or I shall never get into her good graces. Who would have dreamed that she would have the sense to resent my offer. Most girls would have blushed, simpered, and thanked me, feeling flattered with my condescending interest."
Mr. Hamblin did change his tactics.
The next morning, when Mona went into the sewing-room, she found a tiny vase filled with choice flowers upon her table.
She suspected that Mr. Hamblin might have been the donor, and she was annoyed that he should presume to take such a liberty upon so slight an acquaintance. Still, she was not sure that he had put them there, and the pretty things made a bright spot in the room, while their fragrance was not without its charm for her; so she did enjoy them in a measure.
"Where did you get your flowers, Ruth?" Mrs. Montague inquired, when she came in later to inquire regarding a wrap that was being mended, and espied them.
"My flowers!" Mona said, determined that she would not claim them; "they are not mine, and I do not know who put them here. I found them on the table when I came down this morning."
Mrs. Montague frowned, but said nothing more.
She suspected who had made the floral offering, however, and secretly resolved that Louis should not be guilty of continuing such attentions to her seamstress.
She gave orders to Mary to go into the sewing-room every morning before breakfast, and if she found flowers there to take them down to the dining-room and put them upon the table.
The girl found a bouquet on Mona's table three mornings in succession.
She carried out her mistress' instructions to the letter, and Mr. Louis Hamblin, observing the disposition of his expensive gifts, imagined that the pretty seamstress herself had taken this way to reject them.
The measure angered him, and only made him more resolute to conquer
Mona's indifference and pride.
"By Jove!" he said to himself, as he gazed frowningly upon the discarded blossoms, "I believe I am really becoming interested in the proud little beauty, and I must find some other way to bring her around. It is evident that she recognizes the social distance between us, and wishes me to understand it. Perhaps, however, with a little judicious coaxing of a different character, I may win her to a more friendly mood."
He waylaid Mona several times after that, while she was out walking, but, though she never forgot to conduct herself in the most lady-like manner she plainly indicated by her coldness and reserve that she did not care to cultivate Mr. Hamblin's acquaintance.
This opposition to his wishes only made him the more persistent, and added zest to his pursuit of her.
The girl's exquisite beauty and grace—her high-bred self-possession and polished manner—impressed him as he had never been impressed before, even by the society girls whom he was in the habit of meeting, and Kitty McKenzie's charms grew pale and dim beside the brighter and more perfect loveliness of this dainty sewing-girl.
When Mona found that the young man persisted in following her and forcing his society upon her, she changed the time of her daily walk to an hour when she knew he would be down town, and she also took care to go in different directions, thus successfully avoiding him for some time.
But fortune favored him later on.
One morning Mrs. Montague came into the sewing-room all animation, and beaming with smiles.
"Ruth, I am going to ask a great favor of you," she said: "I wonder if you will oblige me."
"Certainly, Mrs. Montague, I shall be very glad to do so, if it is within my power," Mona readily responded.
"Well, then," continued the lady, "I am invited to spend a week at the residence of a friend who lives near Rhinebeck, a little way up the Hudson. Quite a party are going also, and great preparations have been made for us. In fact, it is to be a sort of carnival, on a small scale, and is to wind up with a grand ball. Now, I want you to go with me, Ruth, to help arrange my different costumes, and to act as a kind of dressing-maid—you have such good taste and judgment. Will you go? You will, of course, be relieved from your regular work, while, perhaps, you will find the rest and change agreeable."
Mona thought a few moments before replying.
Her only objection to going with Mrs. Montague was she feared she might meet people whom she had known and associated with before her uncle died. She dreaded to be ignored or treated rudely by old acquaintances. She could not forget her recent experience at Macy's.
But she reasoned that she might not see any one whom she knew; she had never met Mrs. Montague in society, and her circle of friends might be entirely different from those with whom she had mingled. She longed for a respite from ceaseless stitching, and for some change of scene, and she finally resolved to go.
"Why, yes, I am perfectly willing to attend you if you wish," she said at last.
"Thank you—you have relieved my mind of quite a burden, for I feared you might decline my request," Mrs. Montague returned, and then went away to do her packing.
They were to leave New York that afternoon, but Mona had not once thought that Louis Hamblin would be likely to be one of the party, until he joined Mrs. Montague at the station.
There were a dozen or fifteen people in the party, and the young man was devotedly attentive to a pretty dark-eyed girl, who was addressed as Kitty McKenzie.
His eyes lighted with a flash of pleasure, however, the moment he caught sight of Mona, although he betrayed no other sign that he had ever seen her before.
The fair girl flushed with indignation at this slight.
Not because she was at all anxious to have him take notice of her, but because he failed to treat her, in the presence of his friends and social equals, with the courtesy which he had always been so eager to show her elsewhere.
It was a very gay party, and, as a drawing-room car had been chartered for their especial use, there was nothing to impose any restraint upon them, and mirth and pleasure reigned.
Two-thirds of the company were young people, and Kitty McKenzie was one of the merriest of the group, and apparently a great favorite, while it could be readily seen that the attentions of Louis Hamblin were very acceptable to her—her every look and smile, when conversing with him, indicating that he was far more to her than an ordinary acquaintance.
When they arrived at their destination carriages were found to be in waiting to take the party to Hazeldean, the residence of Mr. Wellington, who was to entertain the company for the ensuing week.
A drive of a mile brought them to the fine estate, where an imposing mansion stood in the middle of a beautiful park. The interior of the dwelling was in perfect keeping with its exterior—luxury and beauty prevailed on every hand, and it was really an ideal place in which to entertain a numerous company.
The wide, mammoth hall ran the whole length of the house, while numerous rooms opened into it, with wide doors sliding upward, so that almost the whole of the lower floor could be made into one grand room. The floors were of hard wood, and polished to the last degree of brightness, and were, as Kitty McKenzie merrily remarked, while she executed a gay pirouette on entering, "just capital for dancing."
The upper stories were equally spacious, and luxuriously furnished—it really seemed like a great hotel, only far more home-like and comfortable.
The guests were soon assigned to their apartments, and Mona was gratified to find that, instead of being consigned to some remote corner of the great house, she had a cozy room opening directly into the one occupied by Mrs. Montague.