rgument would convince him that the fascinating widow
would not be satisfied to settle down to the quieter joys of domestic
life, even after she had succeeded in capturing the wealthy diamond
merchant.

Still he resolved that he would say all that he had to say now, and then
leave the matter with him to decide as his heart and judgment dictated.

"I hope that you will not deceive yourself, father," he said. "Mrs.
Montague's nature is one that craves excitement and admiration, and she
has been so long accustomed to this kind of life I imagine it would be
impossible for her to resign it, cheerfully, for any one. Of course I
know but very little of her personally, and I do not wish to judge her
unfairly; but I should be very sorry to have you take any step which you
would be likely to hereafter regret."

Mr. Palmer looked grave. His judgment, his common sense told him that
Ray was right; that the gay woman of the world would not be willing to
sacrifice her pleasures to his wishes, would never meet the wants of his
more quiet and home-loving nature.

But he had been blinded and captivated by Mrs. Montague's wiles and
preference for his society; he had, in fact, been led on so far that
he saw no way of maintaining his dignity and honor except by making
her a formal offer of his hand.

"You have no personal objection to her, I hope, Ray," he said, without
replying to his remarks. "I assure you," he added, "the change shall not
affect your prospects in any way. I will make handsome settlements upon
you, and turn over the business to you before I take any important step."

"Thank you, sir," Ray heartily responded, but realizing that the matter
was as good as settled, and it would be useless to discuss it any
further. "Of course I should not feel at liberty to oppose you, were I
so inclined, in a matter which concerns you so exclusively; as I said
before, if you feel that such an alliance will be for your comfort and
happiness, I would not wish to lay any obstacle in your way."

"You are very good, my son," Mr. Palmer returned, and yet he felt far
from comfortable over the very doubtful approbation of his choice.

He had made up his mind to marry Mrs. Montague; he had indeed been
almost upon the point of offering himself to her, just as Ray and Mona
had passed through the drawing-room, when he had suddenly resolved
to wait and consult his son, before taking the irrevocable step. He
felt that he owed it to him to do so, f