"Mona," the young man gravely said, when she had finished her story, "I shall tell my father to-night of this interview—he already knows that I love you—and ask his sanction to our immediate marriage, for I cannot have you remain here among my friends and acquaintances another day in the capacity of a seamstress or waiting-maid."
"But, Ray—" Mona began, then she stopped short, blushing rosily at having thus involuntarily called him by his Christian name. She had always thought of him thus, and it passed her lips before she was aware of it.
He laughed out, amused at her confusion.
"There, dear, you have broken the ice almost without knowing it," he said; "now we shall get on nicely if you do not let it freeze over again; but what were you going to say?"
"I was going to ask you not to speak of—of our relations to each other to any one just yet," Mona returned, with some embarrassment.
"Why not?" Ray demanded, astonished, and looking troubled by the request.
"There are reasons why I must remain for a while longer with Mrs.
Montague," said the young girl.
"Not in the capacity of waiting-maid," Ray asserted, decidedly; "I cannot allow that."
"Indeed I must, Ray," Mona persisted, but with an appealing note in her voice; "and I will tell you why. I told you that Mrs. Montague was no relative; she is not really, and yet—she was my father's second wife."
"Mona! you astonish me," cried her lover, regarding her wonderingly.