“But you almost took my breath away, Ray, when you bore me off so unceremoniously before Mrs. Montague’s disapproving eyes,” Mona murmured in response.

“Unceremonious!” the young man retorted, with assumed surprise, and a roguish smile.  “Why, I thought I was excessively formal.”

“Yes, in your manner to me; but you did not ask the lady’s permission to conduct me to the host.”

“How was I supposed to know that Miss Richards, to whom I had just been introduced, was not a guest as well as the more gorgeous, but less lovely, Mrs. Montague?” questioned the young lover, lightly.  “But,” he continued, with a sigh, “I cannot bear this sort of thing a great while.  When I see you looking like some beautiful young goddess, I find it very difficult to assume an indifferent exterior.  I nearly forgot myself a moment ago.”

“Perhaps it would have been better if I had remained quietly in my own room,” Mona archly returned, as she gave him a mischievous glance out of her bright eyes.

He drew the hand that lay on his arm close to his side with a fond pressure.

“Indeed, no!” he said, tenderly; “it is better to meet you thus than not at all.  But must I give you up to Mr. Wellington?” he continued, in a wistful tone, as they drew near the gentleman.  “No; I will ask him to direct me to the balcony, and I will conduct you there myself.”

“Ah, Miss Richards, I have been looking for you,” Mr. Wellington remarked, as his eye fell upon the fair girl.  “It is almost time for the opening promenade, and you ought to be in your seat, so as not to miss anything.  But wait a moment; I must speak to this gentleman first,” he concluded, as some one approached him.

“Pray, Mr. Wellington, since you are so engaged, let me conduct Miss Richards to the balcony,” Ray here interposed, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

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 fiancee.

“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.