Mrs. Montague exclaimed, flushing hotly.
"If I had only acted upon my first impressions, I should have sent you
adrift at once--I should not have tolerated your presence a single hour;
but you were so demure and innocent that you deceived me completely, and
I never found you out until the morning after my high-tea. Then I
understood your game, and resolved to so effectually clip your wings that
you could never do me any mischief."

Mona started at this last revelation, and light began to break upon her
mind.

"How did you find me out?" she inquired, in a low tone.

"I had a letter telling me that my seamstress, who called herself Ruth
Richards, was no other than Mona Montague--the last person in all the
world whom I would have wished to receive into my family--and that she
was having secret meetings with Raymond Palmer."

"Who wrote that letter?" Mona demanded, with heightened color.

"I do not know--it was anonymous; but I was convinced at once that you
were Mona Montague, from the fact that you were having secret interviews
with Ray Palmer, for his father had told me of his interest in her. Of
course I instantly came to the conclusion that you were plotting against
me, and, though I did not believe that you could prove your identity,
or your mother's legal marriage, I feared that something might occur to
trouble me in the possession of my fortune; so I resolved to marry you
to Louis and settle the matter for all time."

"Then that was why you started so suddenly for the South?" Mona said,
with flashing eyes.

"That was not my only reason for going," returned Mrs. Montague,
flushing. "I--I had a telegram calling me to St. Louis, and so thought
the opportunity a fine one to carry out my scheme regarding you."

"And did you suppose, for one moment, that you could drive me into a
marriage with a man for whom I had not the slightest affection or even
respect?" Mona demanded, bending an indignant look upon the unprincipled
schemer.

"I at least resolved that I would so compromise you that no one else
would ever marry you," was the malicious retort, as the woman turned her
vindictive glance from her to Ray.

"Nothing could really compromise me but voluntary wrong-doing," Mona
answered, with quiet dignity, "and your vile scheme was but a miserable
failure."

"I do not need to be twitted of the fact," Mrs. Montague impatiently
returned. "My whole life has been a failure," she went on, her face
almost convulsed wi