CHAPTER XXI.
MONA AND RAY HAVE ANOTHER INTERVIEW.
Mona was very happy as she went up to her room after her interview with Ray that eventful Sunday evening, during the early part of which life had seemed darker than usual to her.
The man whom she loved was true, in spite of the doubt and sorrow she had experienced over his apparent neglect. She had not after all built her hopes upon shifting sand; she had not reared an idol in her heart only to have to hurl it from its shrine as false and worthless. Oh, no; her lover was a man to be reverenced—to be proud of, and to be trusted under all circumstances.
She exulted in these facts almost as much as in the knowledge of his love for her, and she dropped to sleep with joy in her heart, smiles on her lips, and tears of gratitude flashing like diamonds on her long brown lashes.
The next morning she seemed almost like a new creature. The world had suddenly acquired a wonderful brightness and beauty, and it was a delight even to exist.
It was no hardship to be a seamstress or even a waiting-maid, so long as she was blessed with Raymond Palmer's love and with the prospect of becoming his wife in the near future.
Involuntarily a gay little song rippled from her lips while she was dressing, and the unusual sound catching Mrs. Montague's ear caused a look of surprise to sweep over her face, for she had never heard Ruth Richards sing so much as a note before.
"The girl has a sweet, flexible voice. I wonder if she is going to surprise me, every now and then, with some new accomplishment! Maybe I have an embryo prima-donna in my employ!" she muttered, with a scornful smile.
Her surprise was not diminished when she saw the happy girl with her bright and animated manners and the new love-light shining on her face, making it almost dazzling in its intensified loveliness.
"What has come over you, Ruth?" Mrs. Montague inquired, regarding her curiously. "One would almost imagine you were going to the ball yourself to-night, you appear to be so happy and elated."
"I believe there must be something unusually exhilarating in the atmosphere," Mona replied, a gleeful little laugh rippling over her smiling lips, although she blushed beneath the woman's searching look. "Don't you think that excitement is sometimes infectious?—and surely everybody has been active and gay for days. I like to see people happy, and then the morning is perfectly lovely."
Truly the world was all couleur de rose to her since love's elixir had given a new impetus to her heart-pulses!
Mrs. Montague frowned slightly, for somehow the girl's unusual mood annoyed her.
She could not forget her exceeding loveliness on Saturday evening, when she had been arrayed in the festal robe which she herself was to wear at the ball, and the memory of it nettled her.
Perhaps, she thought, Ruth remembered it also, and was secretly exulting over the fact of her own beauty. Exceedingly vain herself, she was quick to suspect vanity in others, and this thought only increased her irritation.
"I'd give a great deal if she wasn't so pretty; and—and that style of beauty always annoys me," she said to herself, with a feeling of angry impatience.
And giving a sudden twitch to a delicate ruffle, which she had begun to arrange upon the corsage of a dress, to show Mona how she wanted it, she made a great rugged tear in the filmy fabric, thus completely ruining the frill.
This only served to increase her ill humor.
"There! now I cannot wear this dress at dinner to-day," she cried, flushing angrily over the mishap, "for the frill is ruined."
"Haven't you something else that you can use in its place?" Mona quietly asked.
"No; nothing looks as well on this corsage as these wide, fleecy frills of crape lisse. It is the only dress, too, that I have not already worn here, and I was depending upon it for to-day," was the irritable response.
Mona thought she had plenty of laces and ruffles that would have answered very well, and which might easily have been substituted, but she did not think it best to make any further suggestions to her in her present mood.
"I know what I can do," Mrs. Montague continued, after a moment, in a milder tone. "I saw some ruffling very nearly like this in a milliner's window at Rhinebeck, when I was out riding on Saturday. There are some other little things that I shall want for this evening, and you may take a walk by and by to get them for me."
Rhinebeck was a full mile away, and Mrs. Montague could easily have arranged to have Mona ride, for a carriage was sent every morning for the mail; but it did not occur to her to do so, or if it did, she evidently did not care to put herself to that trouble.
Mona, however, did not mind the walk—indeed, on the whole, she was rather glad of the privilege of getting out by herself into the sunshine which was so in harmony with her own bright mood. Still she could not help feeling that it was rather inconsiderate of Mrs. Montague to require her to walk two miles simply to gratify a mere whim.
It was about nine o'clock when she started out upon her errand, and as she ran down the steps and out upon the broad avenue, her bright eyes went glancing eagerly about, for Mona had secretly hoped that she might catch a glimpse of and perhaps even secure a few words with her lover.
But Ray was nowhere visible, being just at that moment in the smoking-room with several other gentlemen.
Mr. Palmer, the senior, however, was walking in the park, and evidently deeply absorbed in the consideration of some important matter, for his hands were clasped behind him, his head was bowed, and his eyes fixed upon the ground.
But he glanced up as Mona passed him, and his eyes lighted as they fell upon her beautiful face.
He lifted his hat and bowed as courteously to her as he would have done to Mrs. Montague herself, and Mona's heart instantly warmed toward him for his politeness as she returned his salute.
"She is the prettiest girl in the house if she is only a waiting-maid," he muttered, as he turned for a second to look at the graceful figure after Mona had passed him. "How finely she carries herself—how elastic her step!"
Another pair of observing eyes had also caught sight of her by this time, and mental comments of a far different character were running through a younger brain.
The smoking-room at Hazeldean was in the third story of the south wing of the house, and overlooked the avenue and park, as well as a broad stretch of country beyond, and Ray Palmer, sitting beside one of the windows—apparently listening to the conversation of his companions, but really thinking of his interview with Mona the previous evening—espied his betrothed just as she was leaving the grounds of Hazeldean and turning into the main road.
He knocked the ashes from his cigar, took another whiff or two, then laid it down, and turned to his host, who was sitting near him.
"I believe I would like a canter across the country this bright morning, Mr. Wellington," he remarked. "May I beg the use of a horse and saddle for a couple of hours?"
"Certainly, Mr. Palmer—whatever I have in the stable in the form of horses or vehicles is as the disposal of my guests," was the courteous reply. "It is a fine morning for a ride," the gentleman added, "and perchance," with an arch smile, "you may be able to find some bright-eyed maiden who would be glad to accompany you."
Ray thanked him, and then hastened away to the stable to select his horse—his companion he knew he would find later on. In less than fifteen minutes from the time he had seen Mona leave the grounds he was cantering in the same direction; but she was a rapid walker, and he did not overtake her until she had nearly reached the village.
She caught the sound of a horse's hoofs behind her, but did not like to look back to see who was approaching, and it was only when the equestrian was close beside her that she glanced up to find the fond, smiling eyes of her lover resting upon her.
The glad look of welcome which leaped into her own eyes and flashed over her face told him how well he was beloved far better than any words could have done.
"Ray!" she exclaimed, in a joyous tone, as he drew rein beside her, and unhesitatingly laid her hand within the strong palm which he extended to her.
"My darling!" he returned, as he leaped to the ground, "this is an unexpected pleasure! I hardly dared to hope that I should see you alone to-day. How does it happen that you are so far from Hazeldean and walking?"
"Mrs. Montague had a few errands which she wished me to do for her in the village," Mona explained.
"Could she not have arranged for you to ride?" Ray asked, with a frown, and flushing to have his dear one's comfort so ignored.
"Oh, I do not mind the walk in the least," she hastened to say. "The morning is very lovely, and I am glad, on the whole, for I should have missed you if I had ridden."
"True, I saw you just as you were leaving Hazeldean, and so came after you," Ray returned, smiling.
They were just entering Rhinebeck now, and Mona looked anxiously up and down the street.
She feared that some of the other guests at Hazeldean might be about and see her with Ray if they should go through the place together.
He was quick to note the anxiety, and to understand its cause.
"How long will it take you to make your purchases, Mona?" he inquired, looking at his watch.
"Half an hour, perhaps," she replied.
"Well, then, I will leave you here, for a little trot about the country, and meet you again at this spot at the end of thirty minutes. I cannot resist the temptation to have a little chat with you on the way home," Ray returned, and, with another fond pressure of the hand, he leaped again upon his horse and galloped away.
With a rapidly beating heart and flushed cheeks, Mona hurried on her way. She made her purchases with all possible dispatch, then, as she had a few minutes to spare, she slipped into a hot-house, where flowers were cultivated for the city market, and bought a bunch of white violets, and a few sprays of heliotrope, then she turned her footsteps back toward Hazeldean.
She had hardly reached the spot where she had parted from Ray, when she heard him coming in the distance.
He joined her in another moment, and springing from the saddle, he threw the bridle-rein over his arm and walked beside her, leading his horse.
They had not proceeded far when they came to a place where another road appeared to branch off from the road they were on.
"Let us turn here," Ray said. "I have been exploring while you were in the village, and I found that this is a kind of lane, hedged on either side with a thick growth of pines, and leads back to the main road farther on. It is a little roundabout, but we shall not be likely to meet any one whom we know, and we shall feel far more freedom."
Mona was very glad to adopt this plan, and wandering slowly along beneath the shadows of the heavy pines, the lovers soon forgot that there was any one else in the world except themselves.
They talked over more fully the incidents of the weeks of their separation, but Ray dwelt a good deal upon the story of the stolen diamonds, and Mona could not fail to observe that he was very much troubled about the affair.
"It is a great loss," he remarked, with a sigh, "and though I cannot feel that I am culpably blamable, yet I do not cease to reproach myself for having been so thoroughly fooled by that woman. If I had only retained my hold upon the package, she never could have got it."
"But you may recover the diamonds, even now," Mona remarked. "You say that the detective arrested a woman on Friday evening as the suspected party."
"Yes, he suspects her in connection with another case, which he has been at work upon for over three years," and Ray related the story of the stolen crescents, then continued: "At the Delmonico ball he saw this Mrs. Vanderheck with them in her ears, and a cross like one that we lost, so he arrested her upon suspicion of both robberies, but somehow I am not very sanguine that we shall recover the stones."
"Did you not see the cross?" Mona asked.
"No; Mr. Rider had deposited it somewhere for safe keeping. It will be produced at the examination to-morrow. But, really, Mona," Ray interposed, with a nervous laugh, "I feel worse over the fact of having been so taken in by this pretended Mrs. Vanderbeck, than over the pecuniary loss."
The poor fellow felt very much as Justin Cutler felt when he learned how he had been tricked into paying a large price for the pair of paste crescents.
"How did the woman look, Ray? Describe her to me," Mona said.
She experienced a strange fascination in the story with all its curious details.
Ray gave a vivid word-picture of the beautiful woman, her dress, her carriage, and even her driver, for everything connected with that unexampled experience was indelibly stamped upon his mind.
"You say her dress was badly torn," Mona musingly observed, when he had concluded the account of the discovery, and what had followed their getting out of the carriage and entering Doctor Wesselhoff's office.
"Yes, there was quite a rent in it, and I imagine this circumstance was not premeditated in the plan of her campaign, for she certainly was annoyed to have the beautiful cloth torn, although she tried to make light of it," Ray replied, then added: "And later in the day I found a piece of the goods adhering to my clothing."
"Did you?" questioned Mona, eagerly.
"Yes, and if I should ever see that dress again I could easily identify it, for I have the piece now and could fit it into the rent. But doubtless my lady has disposed of that costume long before this. Here is the piece, though—I have kept it, thinking it might possibly be of use some time."
Ray drew forth his pocket-book as he spoke, opened it, took out a folded paper, and handed it to Mona.
She opened it, and found carefully pinned within, a scrap of mauve colored ladies' cloth, in the form of a ragged acute angle.
"It is almost like broadcloth—very fine and heavy," she exclaimed. "It is a lovely color, too, and must have been a very beautiful costume."
"It was, and dangerously so," said Ray, dryly. "I admired it exceedingly, especially the fit and make of it."
"I imagine it might have been found in some dye-house shortly after, if you had only thought of it and known where to look," Mona thoughtfully observed.
"That is a bright idea," said Ray, quickly. "I honestly believe that women would make keener and better detectives than men. But," with a sigh, "I'm afraid it is too late now to put your theory to the test, and perhaps I have brushed against its folds on the street a dozen times since in a different color. Well, I suppose I must try to reconcile myself to the inevitable and make up my mind that the stones are gone beyond recovery, unless this Mrs. Vanderheck should prove to be the thief. I have not much faith in the detective's theory, that the Chicago adventuress and our diamond thief are one and the same."
"There seems to be a singular coincidence about the name of the lady who so imposed upon you, and that of the one who is now under arrest," Mona remarked.
"Yes, the only difference is in one letter, and if Mrs. Vanderheck does not prove to be my charmer, or connected with her in any way, I shall be tempted to believe that she purposely took a name so similar in order to throw suspicion upon this woman," said the young man, thoughtfully.
"That may be; and is it not a little suspicious, too, that Mrs. Vanderbeck should have mentioned an invalid husband when Mrs. Vanderheck really has one?" Mona inquired.
"I had not thought of that before," Ray replied. "Still another singular circumstance comes to my mind just at this moment. At the time I was introduced to Mrs. Vanderheck, at Mrs. Merrill's reception, I repeated the name as if it was spelled with a 'b,' and emphasized the last syllable. The woman started, glanced at me curiously, and changed color a trifle, while she did not seem to quite recover her self-possession throughout our conversation."
"That does seem rather strange, considering all things," said Mona. "Perhaps, after all, she may prove to be your adventuress; and yet she must be a very bold one to flaunt her plunder so recklessly and in the very presence of people who would be sure to recognize it."
They changed the subject after that, and chatted upon topics of a more tender and interesting nature.
It was a delightful walk in the mild February air, and a pleasant interview, and both were loath to part when they suddenly found themselves at the other end of the pine-shadowed lane where it curved into the main road again.
Ray took a tender leave of his dear one, then mounting his horse, rode back over the way they had just traversed, while Mona went on to Hazeldean.