CHAPTER X.
THE PLOT AGAINST MONA THICKENS.
The next morning Mrs. Montague and her young companion left the Southern Hotel and proceeded directly on board one of the palatial steamers which ply between St. Louis and New Orleans.
Mrs. Montague secured one of the best staterooms for their use, and immediately made herself comfortable for the trip.
The weather was very fine, the season advanced, for the foliage was rapidly developing to perfection, and the sail down the broad tortuous river was delightful.
Mona enjoyed it, in spite of her dread of meeting Louis Hamblin at the end of it, and her anxiety to get back to New York and Ray.
Mrs. Montague had entirely recovered her good nature; indeed, she had never been so kind and gracious toward her seamstress as during this portion of their trip. She appeared to exert herself to make her enjoy it—was more free and companionable, and an observer would have regarded them as relatives and equals.
Mrs. Montague made many acquaintances, as she always did everywhere, and entered most heartily into every plan for amusing and entertaining the party on board the steamer.
The days were mostly spent in delightful intercourse and promenades on deck, where Mona was put forward and made to join in the pleasures; while the evenings were devoted to tableaux, charades, music, and dancing, as the passengers desired.
It seemed almost like a return to her old life before her uncle's death, and could she have obliterated all sadness and painful memories, Mona would have enjoyed it thoroughly.
They had barely touched the levee at New Orleans when they espied Louis Hamblin, dressed with great care and in the height of style, awaiting their arrival.
Mrs. Montague signaled to him from the upper deck; and he, with an answering wave of his hand, sprang aboard, and quickly made his way to her side.
He greeted her with evident pleasure, remarking that it seemed an age since he had seen her, and then he turned to Mona, with outstretched hand and smiling eyes.
"How well you are looking, Miss Richards," he remarked; "your trip has done you a great deal of good."
Mona bowed, but without appearing to notice his extended hand, and then she turned away to gather their wraps and satchels, preparatory to going ashore.
Mr. Hamblin frowned at her coldness, but a peculiar smile curved his lips as he whispered in Mrs. Montague's ear:
"We'll soon bring your proud beauty to better terms."
"Don't be rash, Louis," she returned; "we must be very wary if we would accomplish our purpose. You say you love the girl, and I have consented to let you have your way, but, since she is not inclined to accept your advances, you will have to play your cards very shrewdly if you expect to win."
"All right; I will be circumspection personified, if you will only help me to make that girl my wife," the young man said earnestly. "I do love her with all my heart; and, Aunt Margie, I'll quit sowing wild oats, turn over a new leaf, and be a good man if I succeed in this."
Mrs. Montague regarded him somewhat skeptically, as he made this eager avowal, but it was almost immediately followed by a look of anxiety.
"I hope you will—you certainly owe me that much after all that I have done for you," she returned. "Mind you," she added, "I never would have yielded this point if I had not been driven to it."
"Driven to it! How?" inquired her nephew, regarding her searchingly.
"Driven to it, because I have found out that she is Mona Montague, and I'm afraid that she has an eye to her father's property. I believe she is very keen—doubtless she knows that she has a legal claim upon what he left, and means to assert it, or she never would have so cunningly wormed herself into my family. Of course it will be difficult for her to prove her position, since I have that certificate of marriage; still she may have some other proof that I know nothing about which she is secretly working. Of course I'd rather you would marry her," Mrs. Montague gloomily observed, "and thus make our interests mutual, than run any risk of losing the whole of my money. Still, I did want you to marry Kitty McKenzie: I wanted you to fortify yourself with additional wealth."
"I have suspected that the girl was Mona all along," Louis quietly remarked.
"Oh, have you?" sharply retorted his aunt, as she studied his face with suspicious eyes. "Perhaps you have been plotting to marry her for the sole purpose of getting this fortune wholly under your control."
"Pshaw! Aunt Margie, how foolish you are! Haven't I always worked for your interests? More than that, haven't you always assured me that the fortune would be mine eventually? Why, then, should I plot for it?" the young man replied, in soothing tones, but coloring beneath her glance. "I tell you," he went on, a note of passion in his voice, "I love the girl; I would even be willing to marry her without a dollar in prospect, and then go to work to support her. Now come, do not let us quarrel over imaginary troubles, but unite our forces for our mutual benefit. It will be far safer for you if she becomes my wife, for then you will have nothing to fear, and I shall have won the desire of my heart."
"Well, it will have to be, I suppose," said Mrs. Montague, moodily. "I wonder how I was ever so deceived though, when she looks so like Mona Forester. I can understand now why Ray Palmer was so attentive to her at Hazeldean. Strange it never occurred to me, when I saw him waiting upon her, that she was Mona Montague, and they must have had a quiet laugh by themselves over having so thoroughly hoodwinked us."
"They didn't hoodwink me," Mr. Hamblin affirmed, with a sly smile; "I knew all the time who she was."
"I don't see how you knew it," Mrs. Montague retorted, impatiently.
"I will tell you. I was in Macy's one day when the girl ran across some acquaintances. She bowed and smiled to them, as I suppose she had always been in the habit of doing; but the petted darlings of le bon ton drew themselves up haughtily, stared rudely at her, and passed on, while the poor child flushed, then paled, and looked ready to drop. A moment later, the two proud misses shot by me, one of them remarking with curling lips and a toss of her head, 'Do you suppose that Mona Montague expects that we are going to recognize her now?'"
"Why didn't you tell me this before?" Mrs. Montague angrily demanded.
"Because I knew that, if you suspected her identity, you would turn her out of the house forthwith, and then I should have hard work getting into her good graces."
"You are a sly one, Louis."
"One must look out for one's own interests in some respects," he coolly responded.
"Does she know that you suspect her identity?"
"No, not yet; but I mean she soon shall."
"Ah!" said Mrs. Montague, with sudden thought, "maybe you can use this knowledge to aid your suit—only don't let her know that I am in the secret until you are sure of her."
"That has been my intention all along—for I have meant to marry her, by hook or crook," and the young man smiled complacently.
"Look out, Louis; don't overreach yourself," said his companion, bending forward, and looking warningly into his face. "If you make an enemy of me, I warn you, it will be the worse for you."
"My dear aunt, I have no intention of making an enemy of you—you and I have been chums too long for any ill-will to spring up between us now. But," he concluded, looking about him, "we must not remain here talking any longer; most of the passengers have already left the boat I will go for a carriage and we will drive directly to the St. Charles, where I have rooms engaged for you."
Mrs. Montague turned to call Mona, who was standing at some distance from them, watching the men unload the boat.
"Come," she said, "we must go ashore."
Mona followed her from the boat, and into the carriage, utterly ignoring Louis Hamblin's assistance as she entered. She shrank more and more from him, while a feeling of depression and foreboding suddenly changed her from the bright, care-free girl, which she had seemed ever since leaving St. Louis, into a proud, reticent, and suspicious woman.
Upon reaching the St. Charles Hotel, Mrs. Montague informed Mona that dinner would be served shortly, and she would need to be expeditious in making her toilet.
"I should prefer not to go to the dining-room," Mona began, flushing.
"But I wish you to, for we are going to drive afterward to some of the points of interest in the city," Mrs. Montague returned.
"If you will excuse me—"
"Nonsense," retorted her companion, again interrupting her; "don't be a goose, Ruth! I want you with me, and we will not discuss the point any further."
Mona hesitated a moment, then turned away, but with a dignity which warned Mrs. Montague that it might not be well to enforce her commands too rigorously, or she might rebel outright.
Mona went down to the dining-room, but to her great relief received no disagreeable attentions from Mr. Hamblin, who sat on the right, while her seat was on the left of his aunt. He did not address her during the meal, except to ascertain if she was properly waited upon by the servants.
Afterward they went for a drive out on the shell road, which proved to be really delightful, for the city was in its prime, while, rain having fallen early in the day, the streets were not in the least dusty.
Mrs. Montague and Louis monopolized the conversation, thus leaving Mona free to look around about her.
The only thing that occurred to annoy her was on their return to the hotel. Louis, in assisting her to alight, held her hand in a close, lingering clasp for a moment, and, looking admiringly into her eyes, remarked, in a low tone:
"I hope you have enjoyed your drive, Miss—Richards."
What could he mean, Mona asked herself, by that significant pause before and that emphasis on her name?
She forcibly wrenched her hand from his, and deigning him no reply, walked with uplifted head into the hotel, and up to her own room.
The next day she politely, but firmly, declined to go out driving, and remained by herself to write a long letter to Ray; thus she avoided the hated companionship of the man, who became more and more odious to her.
The third evening after their arrival Mrs. Montague went to a concert with some people whose acquaintance she had made while on the steamer, and Mona congratulated herself that she could have a long quiet evening in which to read a book in which she had become deeply interested.
She had not a thought of being interrupted, for she supposed that Louis had accompanied his aunt, and she was sitting contentedly by the table in Mrs. Montague's private parlor, when she heard the door behind her open and close.
She looked up surprised, but the expression was quickly succeeded by one of dismay when she saw Louis Hamblin advancing toward her.
She arose, regarding him with cold displeasure.
He bowed politely as he remarked:
"Do not rise. I simply came to get some letters that Aunt Margie wished me to mail for her."
Mona resumed her seat, greatly relieved at this assurance, and went on with her reading, while the young man took up his aunt's writing-pad, which lay upon the table, as if to search for the letters.
He took out a couple and slipped them into his pocket; then selecting a pen, began himself to write.
Mona felt very uncomfortable, sitting there alone with him, but she kept hoping that he would soon go out again, and so went on with her reading.
Presently, however, he laid down his pen, and, glancing across the table at her, asked:
"What book have you that is so interesting?"
"The Senator's Bride,'" Mona briefly responded.
"Ah! I have never read it. What do you think of it?"
"It is quite entertaining," was the brief, cold reply.
"Pray, do not be so cold and proud—so exceedingly laconic," the young man said, with a smile, which was intended to be persuasive.
Instantly the young girl arose again, stately and frigid as an iceberg.
She attempted to pass him and go to her own room, but he threw out his hand, seized her arm, and stopped her.
"Please do not go!" he urged, in an imploring tone. "I have something which I want very much to say to you."
Mona's blood began to boil, and her eyes flashed dangerously at his presumption in daring to touch her.
She was too proud to struggle with him, and she could not shake off his hold upon her arm.
"Release me, Mr. Hamblin!" she said, in ominously quiet tones.
"Nay, do not treat me so!" he pleaded. "Be kind to me for once, and let me open my heart to you."
Her red lips curled.
"Will you let me pass?" she icily demanded.
He colored hotly at her tone; a flash of anger gleamed in his eyes.
"No. Be seated, Miss Mona Montague; I have something important to say to you," he said, in a tone that struck terror to her heart, while the utterance of her real name so startled and unnerved her that, almost involuntarily, she sank back into her chair, her face as white as her handkerchief, and trembling in every limb.
"Ah! that surprises you, doesn't it?" he remarked, with a smile of triumph; "and now I imagine you will be more tractable."
"What do you mean?" demanded Mona, recovering her composure somewhat, and determined not to commit herself, if she could avoid it.
"What do I mean?" he repeated, with a light laugh. "I mean to have a little private and serious conversation with Miss Mona Montague; and when I have finished, I do not believe that she will treat me quite so cavalierly as she has been doing of late."
"I do not wish to hold any conversation with you, Mr. Hamblin," Mona began, haughtily.
"Perhaps not, but you will, nevertheless," he interposed; "and, let me tell you, to begin with, it will be useless for you to ignore the name by which I have addressed you. I have discovered your identity in spite of your clever efforts to represent some one else—or rather to conceal your personality. I know that you are Mona Montague, the daughter of my aunt's husband and a girl named Mona Forester—"
"Stay!" cried Mona, starting again to her feet, her eyes blazing. "I will not hear my mother spoken of with any disrespect."
"I beg your pardon; I had no intention of wounding you thus," said the young man, regretfully, and flushing. "I simply wished you to understand that I had discovered your identity; and since you have now virtually acknowledged it, by asserting that Mona Forester was your mother, I beg you will be reasonable, and talk the matter over calmly with me, and hear what I have to propose to you."
Mona sank weakly back.
She saw that it would be worse than useless to deny what he had asserted; she had indeed betrayed and acknowledged too much for that.
"Very well. I will listen to what you wish to say, but be kind enough to be brief, for I have no desire to prolong this interview beyond what is absolutely necessary for your purpose," she said, with freezing dignity.
"Well, then," Louis Hamblin began, "I have known who you were ever since you came into Aunt Margie's house as a seamstress."
Then he went on to explain how he learned it, and Mona, remembering the incident but too well, saw that it would be best to quietly accept the fact of his knowledge.
"Does Mrs. Montague also know?" she asked, with breathless eagerness.
"She suspected you at first," he evasively answered, "but you so diplomatically replied to her questions—you were so self-possessed under all circumstances, and especially so when one day you found a picture of your mother, that she was forced to believe your strange resemblance to Mona Forester only a coincidence."