Mona looked up, astonished.
"Kidnapped!" she exclaimed. "No; this is the first that I have heard of that."
"Where have you been that you have not seen the papers?" Ray inquired, wonderingly.
"As you doubtless know," Mona replied, "Uncle Walter died very suddenly the day after I attended the opera with you, and for a fortnight afterward I was so overcome with grief and—other troubles, that I scarcely looked at a paper. After that, one day, I saw a brief item referring to the robbery, and it is only since I came here that I had even a hint that you had been ill."
"Come, then, dear, and let me tell you about it, and then I am sure you will absolve me from all willful neglect," Ray said, as he led her to a tête-à-tête and seated himself beside her. "But first tell me," he added, "how I happen to find you here. Are you one of the guests?"
"No," Mona said, blushing slightly, "You know, of course, that I lost home and everything else when I lost Uncle Walter, and now I am simply acting as seamstress and waiting maid to a Mrs. Montague, who is a guest here."
"Ah!" exclaimed the young man, with a start, as he remembered how Mrs. Montague had denied all knowledge of Mona. "I have met the lady—is she a relative of yours?"
"No; at least, I never saw her until I entered her house to serve her."
"My poor child! to think that you should have to go out to do such work," said Ray, with tender regret. "But of course, as you say, I can understand all about it, for that, too, was in the papers; but it was very heartless, very cruel in that Mrs. Dinsmore not to make you any allowance, when she could not fail to know that your uncle wished you to inherit his property. She must be a very obnoxious sort of person, isn't she?"
"I do not know," said Mona, with a sigh; "I have never seen her—at least, not since I was a child, and too young to remember anything about her."