CHAPTER XVI.
MONA LEARNS SOMETHING OF RAY.
That same evening as Mona was passing up stairs from the laundry, whither she had been to press out the ruffles of a dress, which Mrs. Montague wished to wear at the german a few hours later, she heard the hall-bell ring a resounding peal.
She hastened on, for she did not wish to be observed by strangers, but as she reached the upper landing, she caught some hearty words of welcome from Mr. Wellington, the host, and knew that another guest had arrived.
But she suddenly stopped short, and the color receded from her cheeks, while her heart beat with quick, heavy throbs as she heard the name of Palmer pronounced.
"Can it be possible that Ray Palmer is the newcomer?" she asked herself.
She leaned over the banister, curiosity and an eager longing prompting her to ascertain if he were the guest.
But no, it was not Ray.
She saw instead an elderly gentleman, of benevolent and genial appearance, who seemed to be a valued friend of the family, judging from the enthusiastic greeting which his host accorded him.
"Well, well, Palmer, you are rather late in the week, but none the less welcome on that account," remarked Mr. Wellington. "We have been having gay times, and I have only needed your presence to make my enjoyment complete. But where is that precious son of yours? How is it that Raymond did not come with you?"
Mona held her breath at this.
The question had told her that the new arrival was Ray's father, and that the young man had also been invited to join the gay company that was sojourning beneath the hospitable roof.
She leaned farther over the railing that she might not fail to catch Mr.
Palmer's reply.
"Oh," answered that gentleman, as he removed his overcoat and gloves,
"Ray is not yet quite as strong as we could wish, although he calls
himself well, and he feels hardly equal to much dissipation as yet.
Besides, he is rather depressed just now."
"Over the affair of the diamonds, I suppose?" Mr. Wellington observed.
"Yes, and—some other matter that troubles him."
"I am very sorry. I was depending upon him to help amuse some of our fair young guests," said his host. Then he added, with considerable interest: "Any new developments regarding that remarkable robbery?"
"No; and I do not imagine there ever will be," Mr. Palmer gravely returned.
"Then you have given up all hope of ever recovering them?"
"Well, almost, though I have a detective on the lookout yet, and he thinks if he can get track of the thief in this case, she will prove to be the very woman that he has been searching for during the last three years. He imagines that she is the same one who was concerned in a bold swindle in Chicago about that time."
"Well, I sincerely hope that he will be successful in finding her; such wickedness should not be allowed to prosper," said Mr. Wellington. "I am really sorry about Ray, though—he is such capital company, and there are six or eight wonderfully pretty girls here who will be deeply disappointed when they learn that he is not coming at all."
The two gentlemen passed into the drawing-room just then, and Mona heard nothing more.
She deeply sighed, and continued to stand there for some moments lost in thought.
She could not really make up her mind whether she was more disappointed than rejoiced over Ray's failure to meet this engagement.
It would have been very pleasant to see him again, but it would also have been very humiliating to have him find her there in the capacity of a servant, and ignore her on this account, as Louis Hamblin had done. She still felt most keenly his apparent neglect of her during her troubles, and of course, being entirely ignorant of what had occurred, she attributed it to the most unworthy motives, which, however, did not help to reconcile her to the loss of his friendship.
She gathered from what Mr. Palmer had said about his not being quite strong yet that Ray had been ill, and she wondered, too, what he had meant by his being depressed on account of some other matter that was troubling him.
She had also learned something new about the robbery, of which she had only had a faint hint from the little item which she had read in the paper on the day she went to Mrs. Montague's. She gleaned now that Ray had in some way been responsible for the loss—or, at least felt himself to be so to some extent.
She wished that she could have heard more about him, and she was conscious of a deeper sense of loneliness and friendliness, from this little rift in the cloud that had shut her out of the world where once she had been so happy.
Another sigh escaped her as she slowly turned to go on to her room and almost unconsciously she cried out, with a little sob of pain and longing:
"Oh, Ray, Ray!"
"Aha!"
The ejaculation startled the young girl beyond measure. She did not dream that there was any one near her. She had been so absorbed in observing Mr. Palmer and listening to what had occurred in the lower hall, and in her own sad thoughts, that she was unconscious that any one had stolen up on her unawares, and had also been a witness to the interview between Mr. Palmer and Mr. Wellington, until this exclamation made her look up. She found herself again face to face with Louis Hamblin.
"Aha!" he repeated, in a tone of triumph, but with a frown upon his brow; "that explains why my suit was so disdained this morning! So you know and—love Mr. Raymond Palmer! My pretty Ruth, pray tell me how this young Apollo managed to inspire the princess of sewing-girls with such tender sentiments, that I may profit by his successful method."
"Let me pass!" Mona commanded, as, straight as a young palm, she confronted the insolent fellow with blazing cheeks and flashing eyes.
"It makes you wonderfully pretty to get angry," he returned, with a gleeful chuckle; "but I am not going to let you pass until you tell me when and where you made young Palmer's acquaintance," and he continued to stand directly in her path.
"Do you imagine that you can compel me to say anything?" Mona burst forth, with stinging contempt, her patience all gone. "Let this be the last time that you ever waylay or persecute me with your attentions, for, I give you fair warning, a repetition of such conduct on your part will send me straight to Mrs. Montague with a full report of it."
The young man looked decidedly crestfallen at this spirited threat.
There was but one person in the world of whom he stood in awe, and that was his aunt, Margaret Montague.
He well knew that it would not be for his interest to offend her, and, of all things, he would dread most a revelation of what had occurred in the library that morning, notwithstanding he had affirmed to Mona that he was willing to proclaim his affection before her and the whole world.
Besides, if it should come to the ears of Kitty McKenzie, his prospects of a marriage with that pretty and wealthy young lady would be blighted, and no end of trouble would follow, for Mrs. Montague had determined to effect a union between them, and if he should go contrary to her wishes, she could make it very uncomfortable for him pecuniarily.
Still, he was deeply smitten with the beautiful young seamstress, and was rapidly becoming more so every time he met her.
He had promised himself the pleasure of a secret flirtation with her, while at the same time he intended to continue his attentions to Miss McKenzie in public, and he did not like to be balked in his purpose.
He saw that he could never intimidate her into any concessions; she was far too high-spirited and straightforward; so he must adopt other measures if he would win.
"Certainly you shall pass, if you wish," he said, respectfully, as he stepped aside; "but please do not be quite so unkind; and, by the way, can you tell me what the old codger down below meant by his son being upset about the diamonds?"
He knew well enough, for of course he had seen the accounts of the affair in the papers; but he had an object in wishing to find out how much Mona knew.
"No, I cannot," she coldly replied, as, with uplifted head and haughty bearing, she passed him and entered Mrs. Montague's room.
While this incident was occurring in the hall of the second story, Mr.
Amos Palmer was being introduced to the company below.
His advent caused quite a flutter of excitement among the young ladies; for most of them were acquainted with Ray, who for nearly two years had been a great favorite in society, and they had been led to expect that he was to join their company at Hazeldean.
Great disappointment was expressed when they learned that he was not likely to put in an appearance at all, and Mr. Palmer began to feel sorry that he had not insisted upon having his son come with him.
Mr. Wellington was full of wit and pleasantry, and made merry, as he went around the room with his friend, to introduce the strangers to him.
As they came to Mrs. Montague, he was somewhat surprised when the lady greeted Mr. Palmer with great cordiality.
"I have already the pleasure of Mr. Palmer's acquaintance," she said, with one of her most alluring smiles, as she extended her hand to him, and forthwith she entered into conversation with him, thus effectually chaining him to her side.
He seemed only too well pleased to linger there—he was, in fact, a willing captive to her wiles, a circumstance which the bright eyes of the younger portion of the company did not fail to observe and to comment upon, with something of amusement, and not a little of the match-making spirit of their own mammas.
"Girls!" exclaimed Alice Farwell, a gay, dashing beauty of twenty, to a group of friends whom she had coaxed into a corner, "do you know that a romance has begun here this evening?—a romance that will not be long in culminating in matrimony? Oh! don't go to pluming your feathers," she continued, as there was a general flutter, "for we young Americans will not figure in the story at all, though we may possibly be invited to the wedding. Oh, if it should prove to be the only match of the season!" and with a long-drawn sigh, she glanced mischievously across the room, toward the recent arrival, who was apparently oblivious of all, save the attractions of the charming Mrs. Montague.
Talk of match-making mammas!
This bevy of young girls became so engrossed in watching the progress of the romance which was then being enacted in their presence, that they forgot to flirt themselves, and took pains to help it on in every possible way.
"It will be just the nicest match in the world," said Edith Brown, delightfully. "Mr. Palmer is a fine-looking old gentleman, and Mrs. Montague, though she seems a great deal younger, will make him a lovely wife."
"It will be so suitable, too, for they are both rich, and stand high in society," whispered a third, with an eye to worldly prosperity.
"And she can have all the diamonds she wants," chimed in a little miss of sixteen, "for he is a diamond merchant, you know."
This remark caused a general laugh, and then the conversation turned upon the recent robbery, which was discussed at some length.
"Who would have thought of decoying Ray Palmer into Doctor Wesselhoff's retreat?" exclaimed Alice Farwell. "It was a very daring thing to do. By the way, I wonder what the reason is young Palmer did not come with his father? I can't quite believe he isn't well enough, for I saw him only the day before we left New York, and he was walking down Broadway with as much energy as any one, only he looked a trifle pale and anxious."
"I wish he would come up for the grand hop on next Monday," said Edith Brown. "He is capital company, and a delightful partner. I am going to coax Mr. Palmer to send for him. Come, girls, he has monopolized our pretty widow long enough; suppose we break up the conference and put in our petition."
The merry maidens were nothing loath to have another handsome escort added to their number, and, headed by the audacious Edith, they went in a body to make their request of Mr. Palmer.
"Well, it is too bad to have Ray miss all this," he said, smilingly, when they allowed him an opportunity to reply. "I believe it would do him good to come, and he could not help enjoying himself here," he added, as his genial eyes rested on the bright faces before him. "I believe I will telegraph him in the morning."
The fair petitioners were satisfied with their success, and, dinner being announced just then, the subject was dropped for the time.
After dinner there was a progressive whist party for an hour, at the end of which there was considerable fun occasioned by the awarding of the prizes, and after that everybody was ready for the german.
But great disappointment was expressed when they found that there was one lady lacking to enable them all to participate in the dance.
"What shall we do?—no one wants to sit and look on—it is very stupid, and the rest of us wouldn't enjoy it, either, to have any wallflowers about," Kitty McKenzie regretfully remarked. "Oh! Mrs. Montague," she added, as if the idea had just occurred to her, "there is your pretty seamstress; may she not come, just for this once?"
Mrs. Montague hesitated.
"Please," persisted the generous-hearted Kitty; "she is very nice and lady-like; I am sure no one could object to her, and I know she would enjoy it."
Two or three others seconded the proposal, and the lady then gave her consent, though with evident reluctance.
Miss Kitty, all elated with the success of her project, and never dreaming that Mona would not enjoy it, ran away to bring her down.
She found her in her own room reading a recent magazine.
"Come," she said, with gleaming eyes, "you are to join us in the german.
I have Mrs. Montague's permission, and we are all waiting for you."
"I thank you very much Miss McKenzie," Mona responded, flushing, "but I do not believe I will go down."
"Oh, do; we need just one more lady, and some of the gentlemen will have to sit it out if you do not. Miss Nellie Wellington has to play for us, or she would dance, so please come," Miss Kitty urged, looking disappointed enough over Mona's unexpected refusal.
Mona shrank from joining the dancers, or from mingling with the company, for several reasons.
She had no heart for dancing, so soon after her uncle's death; she disliked to go among people who would regard her as an inferior, and only tolerate her presence because she would help to "fill out," while last, but not least, she wished to keep out of Louis Hamblin's way.
But she did not like to appear disobliging or unappreciative of Miss
McKenzie's kindness, and a bright idea suddenly occurred to her.
"I really do not care to dance, Miss McKenzie, although it is very thoughtful of you to invite me; but if it will be agreeable to the company, I will take Miss Wellington's place at the piano, and she can make up the desired number."
"Oh, can you play?" cried Kitty, both astonished and delighted. "That will help us out, and I am sure it is very nice of you to offer, for I think it is awfully stupid to play for dancing. Come, then, and I know everybody will be surprised as well as pleased."
And winding her arm about the slender waist of the fair seamstress, they went down stairs together, Miss McKenzie chatting away as sociably as if they had always been friends and equals.
Mrs. Montague lifted her eyebrows with well-bred astonishment when the young lady informed the company that Miss Richards preferred to preside at the piano, and a number of others appealed to share her surprise, and looked somewhat skeptical, also.
They were more amazed still when she modestly took her seat and began her duties, for Mona was perfectly at home in music, and soon made the room ring with inspiring melody for the eager dancers.
"Who is that beautiful and talented girl?" Amos Palmer asked of his host, when the young people were tired of dancing, and Mona quietly withdrew from the room.
"Her name is Ruth Richards, I believe," Mr. Wellington replied.
"You 'believe!' Isn't she a guest here?" inquired Mr. Palmer, with surprise.
"No; she is simply a maid in the employ of Mrs. Montague."
"Well, it is a great pity."
"What is a great pity?"
"That such a lovely young lady should have to serve any one in that capacity; she is beautiful and talented enough to fill any position."
And this was Amos Palmer's opinion regarding Ray's unknown lady-love.