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."