Mr. Wellington, with a look of relief, readily assented to the proposition, and Ray and his companion were thus permitted to enjoy a little more of each other's society.
They easily found their way to the balcony, where Ray secured a good position for his fiancée.
"I suppose I will have to leave you now," he whispered in her ear; "I am engaged to Miss Wellington for the promenade; but, by and by, Mona, I shall steal away and come to you again."
"Do not leave the dancing on my account, Ray," Mona pleaded; "it is all so bright and lovely down there. I know you will enjoy it."
"I should, if I could have you with me," he interrupted, fondly; "but, as I cannot, I would much prefer to remain quietly here with you—only that would not do, I suppose."
"No, indeed," she returned, decidedly. "Now you must go, for the orchestra is beginning to play."
He left her, with a fond hand-clasp that brought a happy smile to her red lips, and went below to seek his host's daughter.
Mona was very glad, later on, that she was not below with the dancers, for she saw quite a number of people from New York, whom she knew, and she would not have cared to be recognized by them—or rather snubbed by them.
It was a brilliant scene when the grand procession formed.
The pavilion had been very tastefully decorated, and one would hardly have believed that there were only bare, rough boards behind the artistically draped damask silk and lace, which had been used in profusion to conceal them. The spacious room was brilliantly lighted; flowers and potted plants were everywhere, making the place bright with their varied hues, and sending forth their fragrance into every nook and corner, while the fine orchestra was concealed behind a screen of palms, mingled with oleanders in full bloom.