But it would never do to betray anything of this, for then Mrs. Montague would know at once that she was Mona Montague; so she made no sign that she was any more interested in this little romance regarding Ray Palmer’s love, than she would have been in that of any stranger.  She even forced herself to ignore him altogether, and ask, in a matter-of-fact way: 

“Is it not strange, if Mr. Dinsmore had a wife living, that he did not make some provision for his niece, by will?”

“The girl isn’t Mona Montague after all, or she never would have asked such a question with that innocent air,” said Mrs. Montague to herself, with some disappointment; “the strange resemblance must be only a coincidence, striking though it is.  But I would really like to know where Walter Dinsmore’s niece is.  I feel as if I had an enemy in ambush all the time, for she would have it in her power to do me a great deal of harm if she could prove her identity.  I am half sorry that Ruth doesn’t prove to be she, for having her here, under my eye, I could manage her capitally.”

“Why, the papers discussed all that at the time,” she remarked aloud, with some surprise.  “There was considerable excitement over the affair, and sympathy was very strong for the niece.  Didn’t you read about it?”

“No, I was very much engaged just then, and I did not read any account of it.  There, these bows are ready, and I will sew them to the dress,” Mona concluded, rising to get the garment, but trembling with nervous excitement in every limb.

“Ah!” she added, glancing at her fingers, three of which were stained with blood.  “I have pricked myself with my needle; I hope I have not soiled the ribbon.  No, fortunately, I have not,” as she carefully examined it, “but I will step into the bath-room to wash my hands.  I will not be long,” and she immediately left the room again.  She had purposely run the needle into her delicate flesh to obtain this respite, for she felt as if she could no longer endure the trying conversation.

“Oh, how she has tortured me!” she sobbed, as she swung the door to after her, and dashed from her eyes the tears which she could no longer restrain.  “I could not bear it another moment, and I must not give way, even now, or she will see that I am unnerved, but I cannot be wholly wretched now that I know that Ray loves me!”

A vivid blush mounted to her brow as she whispered the sweet words, and she dashed the cold water over her burning cheeks to cool them.

“Ah!” she continued; “I judged him wrongfully, and I am sorry.  It will be all right if we can but meet again.  It must be true that he loved me; he must have confessed it, or his father would not have told Mrs. Montague so.”

She hastily dried her face, and hands, then composing herself, returned to Mrs. Montague’s room to find her with her dress on and looking very fair and lovely in the delicately tinted blue cashmere, with the soft ruching in the neck and sleeves and the shining satin bows at her waist.