“That girl up stairs—­Ruth Richards, she calls herself,” the young man answered, flushing, but speaking with something of defiance in his tone.

“Good gracious, Louis! you cannot mean it!” she exclaimed, aghast.  “I told you I would have no nonsense in that direction.  Does she, Ruth, suspect your folly?”

“Only to toss her head and turn the cold shoulder on me.  She is in no way responsible for my folly, as you call it, except by being so decidedly pretty.  You’d better give in, Aunt Marg—­it’ll be for your interest not to make an enemy of me,” he quoted, in a peculiar tone, “and it will make a man of me, too, for I vow I love the girl to distraction.”

Mrs. Montague uttered a sigh of despair.

“I was afraid you’d make a fool of yourself over her, and now I shall have to send the girl away.  It is too bad, for she is the only expert seamstress I have had for a year,” she said, tears of vexation actually rushing to her eyes.

“No, you don’t,” the young man retorted, flaming up angrily; “don’t you dare to send her away, or I swear I will do something desperate.  Besides, the girl doesn’t care a rap for me, but she is dead gone on young Palmer; and if you drive her away, the next you’ll know she will forestall you in the Palmer mansion.”

Mrs. Montague grew pale at this shaft, and sat for several moments absorbed in thought.

“I thought that he was in love with Walter Dinsmore’s protegee, Mona Montague,” she at last remarked, with a bitter inflection.

A peculiar smile flitted over Louis Hamblin’s lips at this remark.  But he quickly repressed it, and replied: 

“So I heard and thought at one time; but he was deeply smitten with Ruth the night of the Hazeldean ball, and never left her side after refreshments; they sat in the balcony, half concealed by the draperies, until after one o’clock.”

“You don’t mean it!” Mrs. Montague exclaimed, with a start and frown.  “Then the girl is more artful than I thought; but, on the whole, I’m not sure but that I should prefer to have Ray Palmer marry Ruth Richards rather than Mona Montague—­it might be better for me in the end.  I wonder where she is.  I am almost sorry—­”

She broke off suddenly, but added, after a moment: 

“I don’t know, Louis—­I am somewhat perplexed.  If, as you say, Ray Palmer is so deeply smitten with Ruth he must have gotten over his penchant for the other girl.  I will think over your proposition, and tell you my conclusion later.”

An expression of triumph swept over Louis Hamblin’s face, but quickly assuming a grateful look, he remarked: 

“Thank you, Aunt Margie—­if you’ll bring that about I’ll be your loyal slave for life.”

Mrs. Montague’s lips curled slightly at his extravagant language, but she made no reply to it.

Presently, however, she asked: 

“When are you going to attend to that matter of business for me?  I do not think it ought to be delayed any longer.”