Ray found the room indicated, which proved to be Mrs. Montague's boudoir, deposited his hat, gloves, and cane where he could conveniently get them again—for he did not intend to remain long—and then descended to the drawing-room.
He made his way at once to where Mrs. Montague was standing with her captive beside her, for he desired to get through with the disagreeable duty of offering congratulations, with all possible dispatch.
Poor Mr. Palmer! Ray pitied him, in spite of his aversion to the engagement, for he looked heated and flushed, and somewhat sheepish as his son approached, although he tried to smile and look happy, as if he enjoyed the glitter and show and confusion reigning all about him.
Ray politely shook hands with his hostess, making some general remark upon the occasion and the brilliant assembly, as he did so.
"And—I hope I am to have your congratulations." Mrs. Montague archly remarked, as she glanced from him to his father.
"You certainly can have no doubt that I sincerely hope the arrangement may be for your mutual happiness," the young man gravely replied, as he bowed before them both.
"Then show yourself a dutiful son by drinking a cup of tea with me," laughingly returned the lady, as she slipped her white hand within his arm, and led him toward the great silver urn, where several charming "buds" were dispensing the fragrant beverage to the numerous guests.
Ray had no alternative, and he well knew that the wily widow had adroitly taken this way to make it appear to her guests that the son heartily approved his father's choice.
She possessed infinite tact, and chatted away in the most brilliant manner, making him wait upon her so assiduously that Ray was sure, from the looks of those about them, that every one was admiring his devotion(?) to his future step-mother.
She released him at last, however, and returned to her position beside his father, and watching his opportunity he stole unobserved from the room, and up stairs, intending to get away from the house as soon as possible.