“What do you suppose she will say when she learns the truth about us?” Mona inquired, with an amused smile.  “I imagine there will be something of a breeze about my ears, for she informed me this morning that I need have no hopes or aspirations regarding you upon the strength of any attention that you bestowed upon me at Hazeldean, for—­you were already engaged,” and a little ripple of merry laughter concluded the sentence.

Ray smiled, delighted to see the sunshine upon his dear one’s face, and to hear that musical sound.  Yet he remarked, with some sternness: 

“I think she is overstepping her jurisdiction to meddle in your affairs to such an extent.  But here comes our lunch,” he interposed, as the waiter appeared, bearing a well laden tray of tempting viands.

“Then let us drop all unpleasant topics, and give ourselves up to the enjoyment of it,” said Mona, looking up brightly.  “A light heart and a mind at ease greatly aid digestion, you know.”

She would not allow him to refer to anything of a disagreeable nature after that, but strove, in her bright, sweet way, to banish the cloud from his face, and succeeded so well that before their meal was ended they had both apparently forgotten Louis Hamblin and his aunt, and the unsuitable engagement about to be announced, and were only conscious that they were there together, and all in all to each other.

But time was flying, and Mona knew that she must get back to assist Mrs. Montague with her toilet for the high-tea.

“It was very nice of you, Ray, to bring me here for this delightful lunch,” she said, as they arose from the table, with a regretful sigh that they must separate, and began to draw on her gloves.

“We shall take all our lunches together before long, I hope, my darling,” he whispered, fondly; “half the stipulated time is gone, Mona, and I shall certainly claim you at the end of another six weeks.”

Mona flushed, but she did not reply, and her heart grew heavy, for she knew she should not be willing to become Ray’s wife until she could prove the circumstances of her birth.

She longed to tell him how she felt about it—­she longed to know how he would feel toward her if they should discover that any stain rested upon her.

But she dare not broach the subject—­a feeling of shame and humiliation kept her silent, and she resolved to wait and hope until the six weeks should pass.

They went out together, but still followed by that pair of malignant eyes, which had, however, been cautiously veiled, as was also the face in which they were set.

Ray walked with his betrothed to a corner, where he helped her aboard a car, and then returned to his store.

Later, on that same day, a gay company of gentlemen and ladies filled Mrs. Montague’s spacious and elegant rooms, where she, in her elaborate and becoming costume, entertained in her most charming manner.