Ah! this explained to Mona what had puzzled her just before leaving home—­why Mrs. Montague had once or twice appeared embarrassed during their conversation, why she had abruptly paused in the midst of that last sentence, and why, too, she had been so unusually particular about her personal appearance for a home-reception.

She mentioned these circumstances to Ray, and asked, in conclusion, if he were also invited to the high-tea.

“Yes; but, really, I am so heart-sick over the affair I feel as if I cannot go.  I am utterly at a loss to understand this strange infatuation,” he continued, with a heavy sigh.  “My father, until this meeting with Mrs. Montague, has been one of the most quiet and domestic of men.  He went occasionally into society, but never remained late at any reception, and never bestowed especial attention upon any lady.  He has been a dear lover of his home and his books.  We have seldom entertained since my mother’s death, except in an informal way, and he has always appeared to have a strong antipathy to gay society women.”

“How strange! for Mrs. Montague is an exaggerated type of such a woman; her life is one continual round of excitement, pleasure, and fashion,” Mona remarked, “and I am sure,” she added, with a glance of sympathy at her lover’s downcast face, “that Mr. Palmer would soon grow very weary of such an existence.”

“I am certain of it, also,” Ray answered, “and more than that, from what I have learned of the woman through you—­of her character and disposition—­I fear that my father is doomed to a wretched future, if he marries her.”

“I have similar forebodings,” Mona said, thoughtfully, as her mind recurred to the conversation of the morning.  “How would it do for you to tell your father what you know?  It might influence him, and I shall not mind having my secret revealed if he can be saved from future unhappiness.”

“I fear it is too late for that now.  He is so thoroughly infatuated and has committed himself so far, I doubt the wisdom of seeking to undeceive him,” Ray responded, with a sigh.  “What powers of fascination that woman has!” he exclaimed, with some excitement.  “She charms every one, young and old.  I myself experienced something of it until you opened my eyes to her real character.”

“Such women are capable of doing a great deal of harm.  Oh, Ray, I believe that society ruins a great many people.  Perhaps it was well that my career in it was so suddenly terminated,” Mona remarked, gravely.

Ray smiled fondly down upon her.

“I do not believe it could ever have harmed you very much,” he said, tenderly; “but I believe very many young people are unfitted for the higher duties of life where they give themselves up to society to such an extent as they do here in New York; it is such a shallow, unreal kind of life.  We will be social—­you and I, Mona, when we make a home for ourselves; we will be truly hospitable and entertain our friends for the good that we can get and give, but not merely for the sake of show and of being ‘in the swim.’”