Mona returned at this moment, and Mrs. Montague’s musings were cut short.
The young girl had recovered her self-control, and was as calm and collected as usual; even more so, for she had told herself that she must be more on her guard or she would betray her identity.
Mrs. Montague appeared to have forgotten all about their recent conversation, and chatted sociably about various topics for a while. But suddenly she asked:
“Did you observe the new arrival last night, Ruth?”
“Do you mean that portly gentleman, who is slightly bald, and with whom you went out for refreshments?” Mona inquired, lifting a frank, inquiring look to her companion, though her heart beat fast at this reference to Ray’s father.
“Yes; he is very fine-looking, don’t you think so?”
“Perhaps so—rather,” replied Mona, reflectively.
“That is ‘rather’ doubtful praise, I am afraid,” observed Mrs. Montague, with a light laugh. “I think he is a very handsome old gentleman, and he is certainly a decidedly entertaining companion. You know who he is, I suppose.”
“I do not think that I heard anybody address him by name while I was in the drawing-room; of course; I was not introduced to any one,” Mona evasively answered.
“His name is Palmer,” Mrs. Montague remarked, as she bent a searching look upon the young girl.
But Mona had herself well in hand now, and she made no sign that the name was a familiar one to her.
“He has a son who is strikingly good looking, too,” Mrs. Montague continued. “I met them both at a reception in New York a little while ago, and was greatly attracted to them, though just now the young man is rather unhappy—in fact, he is wearing the willow for some girl whom he imagines he loves.”
Mrs. Montague paused to note the effect of this conversation, but Mona had finished fastening the buckle on the slipper, and quietly taken up some other work, though her pulses were beating like trip-hammers.