“Yes,” Mrs. Montague quietly responded, “I have some choice ones, and I am very fond of diamonds; but I have never seen any one, unless it was an actress, with such a profusion of them as that lady.  I do not think I should care to wear so many at one time, even if I possessed them.”

“No, it hardly seems in good taste,” Mr. Palmer replied, then added:  “My son is beckoning me; will you excuse me for a moment?”

“Your son!” exclaimed the lady, with a light laugh and an arch look.  “Surely, Mr. Palmer, you cannot have a son old enough to mingle in society like this?”

“Indeed I have, and you can see for yourself—­he is standing yonder by that large easel,” the gentleman returned, laughing also, and evidently well pleased to be regarded younger than he really was.

“I must confess my surprise,” said the charming widow, as she darted a curious glance at the young man, “but since you assert it I must not doubt your word, and I will say, also, that you have every reason to be proud of your son.  But—­I will not detain you,” she added, bowing gracefully; “only I trust that I may have the pleasure of meeting you again.”

“Thank you, madame; you honor me,” the diamond merchant replied, as he, too, bowed, and then passed on.

“Merrill said truly,” he muttered, as he made his way through the crowd toward Ray; “she is certainly a very charming woman; I don’t wonder that she is a favorite in society.  Well, what is it, Ray, my boy?” he asked, as he reached his son’s side.

“Did you notice that woman who entered the room a moment or two ago?” the young man asked, in a low tone.

“The one wearing so many diamonds?”

“Yes; and, father, I believe there is some of our property about her.”

“I thought of it, too, Ray, but only because she wore so many stones, I suppose.  We surely have no right to suspect her of being the thief,” said Mr. Palmer, gravely.

“Perhaps not; but I did, all the same.”

“She does not look at all like that Mrs. Vanderbeck,” Mr. Palmer remarked, as he again singled out the woman, and observed her closely.

“I don’t know; her form is not unlike; and put a red wig on her, she might pass—­”

“Pshaw, Ray,” interrupted his father, “you are letting your imagination run away with you; she cannot be the same person; her features are entirely different, and she is too stout.”

“Well, that may be; but I am impressed that some of those stones belong to us,” Ray said, following the woman with a critical glance.

“If any of them are ours, we have no means of identifying them,” Mr. Palmer responded.  “I have given them up as a dead loss, and do not believe that we shall ever discover the thief.”

Ray looked very sober.

“I am very sore over that affair, father,” he said, gravely.  “If I had not allowed my head to be turned by that fascinating woman, I never should have lost them.  She just smiled and talked all the sense out of me.  I ought never to have removed my hand from that package, even to prevent a dozen tailor-made dresses from being torn, and then she could not have stolen it.”