“Certainly,” Ray responded, cordially, and politely extended his cigar to him.

The man made use of it, then returned it, with thanks, remarking, as he turned to walk along with him: 

“Glorious night, this!”

“Indeed it is—­we seldom have so perfect an evening,” Ray heartily responded.

“Quite a blow-out, too,” added Mr. Hamblin, who was somewhat given to slang.  “Wellington is a generous old codger, and has done things up in fine style.”

“Yes, I should say the ball has been a great success, at least everybody has appeared to enjoy it,” Ray politely replied.

He was not very well pleased with the young man’s enforced companionship; he would have much preferred to be left to his own reflections.

“That is so, and there were lots of pretty girls on the floor,” Mr. Hamblin went on, in his free-and-easy style, “and the costumes were exceptionally fine, too.  By the way,” with a covert look at Ray, “that Miss Montague is a remarkably beautiful girl.”

Ray felt a great inward shock go through him at this observation, and he was on his guard in an instant.

“Miss Montague!” he repeated, bending a keen glance upon his companion, “was there a Miss Montague here this evening?”

“I beg ten thousand pardons, Palmer,” the young man broke forth, with well-assumed confusion, “I don’t know why I used that name, ’pon my word I don’t, unless it was because of association.  I’d heard, you know, that you were attentive at one time to a Miss Montague, niece to that rich old chap, Dinsmore, who died recently.  The name I should have spoken, however, was Miss Richards, with whom I saw you talking a while ago.”

Louis Hamblin had at once suspected Mona’s identity, upon discovering the lovers sitting together in the balcony.  He was confirmed in this suspicion when he followed them from the pavilion and observed their tender parting in the hall, and so he had dogged Ray’s steps, when he went out for a walk, with the express purpose of pumping him, and had thus tried to take him off his guard by speaking of Mona in the way he did.

“Ah, yes,” Ray quietly responded, for he had seen through the trick at once; “Miss Kitty McKenzie introduced me to Miss Richards early in the evening.  She is an interesting girl, and she informs me that she is in the employ of your aunt, Mrs. Montague.”

“Yes, she’s seamstress, or something of that sort,” Mr. Hamblin returned, knocking the ashes from his cigar.  “Deuced shame, isn’t it, that a pretty, lady-like girl like her should have to work at such a trade for her living?  I—­I believe,” with a sly glance at Ray, “if I wasn’t dependent on Aunt Margie—­that is, if I had a fortune of my own—­I’d like nothing better than to marry the girl and put her in a position more befitting her beauty.”

It was fortunate, for Mona’s sake, that they were walking in the shadow of the tall spruces, or Louis Hamblin must have seen the look of wrath that kindled on Ray’s face at the presumptuous speech.