MONA ATTENDS THE BALL AT HAZELDEAN.

Mona found considerable excitement and confusion prevailing upon her return, for carpenters and decorators were busy about the house; flowers and plants were being carried in from the conservatory; the caterer and his force were arranging things to their minds, in the dining-room and kitchen, and everybody, guests included, was busy and in a flutter of anticipation over the approaching festivities.

“It seems to me that you were gone a long while,” Mrs. Montague curtly remarked, as Mona entered her room.

“Was I?” the young girl asked, pleasantly; then she added:  “Well, two miles make quite a walk.”

Mrs. Montague flushed at the remark.

She was well aware that she had been unreasonable in requiring so much, just to secure a few articles which she might have very well done without, and this thought did not add to her comfort.

She made no reply, but quietly laid out some work for Mona, whom she kept busily employed during the remainder of the day.

The young girl cheerfully performed all that was required of her, however; her interview with Ray had served to sweeten every task for that day, while she hoped that she might secure another opportunity, before it was over, for a few more words with him.

But after dinner Mrs. Montague came up stairs better-natured than she had been all day, and turning to Mona, as she entered the room, she asked: 

“Have you none but mourning dresses with you? nothing white, or pretty, for evening?”

“No; my dresses are all black; the only thing I have that would be at all suitable for evening is a black net,” Mona answered, wondering, with rising color, why she had asked the question.

“That might do with some white ribbons to liven it up a bit,” said Mrs. Montague, thoughtfully.  Then she explained:  “Mr. Wellington has arranged a balcony in the dancing hall for some friends who are coming to the ball, just to look on for a while, and he has just said to me that there would be a seat for you, if you cared to see the dancing.”

Mona looked up eagerly at this.

She dearly loved social life, and she had wished, oh, so much! that she might have the privilege of witnessing the gay scenes of the evening.

“That is very kind of Mr. Wellington,” she gratefully remarked.

“Get your dress, and let me look at it,” continued Mrs. Montague, who would not commit herself to anything until she could be sure that her seamstress would make a respectable appearance among Mr. Wellington’s friends.

He had requested as a favor that Miss Richards might be allowed this privilege in return for having so kindly relieved his daughter at the piano a few evenings previous.

Mona brought the dress-a rich, heavy net, made over handsome black silk, which had been among her wardrobe for the previous summer, when she went to Lenox with her uncle.

“That will be just the thing, only it needs something to relieve its blackness,” said Mrs. Montague, while she mentally wondered at the richness of the costume.

“I have some narrow white taste in my trunk, which I can perhaps use to make it a little more suitable for the occasion, if you approve,” Mona quietly remarked.

“Yes, fix it as you like,” the lady returned, indifferently, adding:  “that is if you care about going into the pavilion.”

“Thank you; I think I should enjoy watching the dancers for a while,” the young girl returned.

Perhaps, she thought, she might be able to snatch another brief interview with Ray.  At all events she should see him, and that would be worth a great deal.

Her nimble fingers were very busy after that running her white ribbons into the meshes of her dress.

She wove three rows of the narrow, feather-edged taste into each of the flounces, and the effect was very pretty.  Then she did the same between the puffs of the full sleeves, tying some dainty bows where she joined them, and finished the neck to correspond.

This was hardly completed when she was called to assist Mrs. Montague in dressing, and by the time she was ready to descend her good humor was thoroughly restored, for she certainly was a most regal looking woman in her elegant and becoming toilet.

“I do not believe there will be another dress here this evening as beautiful as this,” Mona remarked, as she fastened the last fold in place, her pretty face flushing with genuine admiration for the artistic costume.

“It is handsome, and I look passably young in it, too; how old should you take me to be Ruth?” Mrs. Montague asked, with a smiling glance at her own reflection in the mirror.

“A trifle over thirty, perhaps,” Mona replied, and the little exultant laugh which broke from her companion told her that she felt highly flattered by that estimate of her years.

“There!” she remarked, as she drew on her gloves, “you need do nothing more for me; go now and get ready yourself, or you will miss the opening promenade.”

Mona hastened away to her own room, where she had everything laid out in the most orderly manner, ready to put on, and if Mrs. Montague could have seen the dainty undergarments and skirts spread upon her bed; the costly kid boots and silken hose for her pretty feet, she might have arched her eyebrows more than ever over the extravagant taste of her seamstress.

Mona arranged her hair with great care, as she had worn it on the evening when she attended the opera with Ray, and this done she was soon ready.

She looked lovely.  The black net, with its dainty white trimmings, was very becoming to her delicate complexion.  The lining to the corsage had been cut low, and her pure white neck gleamed like marble through the meshes of the dusky lace.  There was no lining, either, to her sleeves and her beautifully rounded arms looked like bits of exquisite sculpture.  She had turned the lace away in the shape of a V at her throat, and now finished it by pinning to her corsage the cluster of white violets which she had purchased in the morning.

She regretted that she had no gloves with her suitable for the occasion, but since she was only to sit in the balcony, she thought it would not matter much if she wore none, and her small white hands, with their rose-tinted finger-tips, were by no means unsightly objects.

She was very happy and light-hearted, as she turned for one last look in her mirror before leaving her room.

She smiled involuntarily at her own loveliness, and gave a gay little nod at the charming reflection as she turned away.

Then she went out and softly down a back stair-way to avoid the crowds of people who were going up and down the front way.

But, on reaching the lower floor, she was obliged to cross the main hall and drawing-room in order to reach the pavilion, which Mr. Wellington had caused to be erected outside on the lawn for dancing, and which was connected with the house by a covered passage leading from one of the long windows of the drawing-room.

Mona stood in the doorway a moment, feeling slightly embarrassed at the thought of going unattended to search for her seat in the balcony.

Just then a round, white arm was slipped about her waist, and a gay, girlish voice cried in her ear: 

“Oh, Miss Richards! how perfectly lovely you look!  Are you coming to the ball?”

Mona turned and smiled into the bright face of Kitty McKenzie, who was radiant in pink silk and white tulle.

“No, only as a spectator,” she replied, with an answering smile.  “Mr. Wellington has kindly offered me a seat in the balcony, where I shall enjoy watching the merrymakers.”

“But do you not like to dance yourself?” questioned the girl.

“Oh, yes, indeed.  I used to enjoy it very much,” Mona replied, with a little sigh.

“Then I think it is a great pity that you cannot join us to-night,” returned Miss Kitty, regretfully, for she had caught the sigh; “only,” she added, with sudden thought, “being in mourning, perhaps you would rather not.”

“No, I should not care to dance to-night,” Mona returned, and then she became conscious that a familiar form was approaching the spot where they stood.

It was not an easy matter for her to keep back her color as Ray drew near, and try to appear as if she had never seen him before.  She knew that he was choosing this opportunity to be formally introduced to her.

But the voluble Miss McKenzie saluted him in her frank outspoken manner.

“Oh, Mr. Palmer,” she cried, “are not the rooms lovely?-the flowers, the lights, indeed all the decorations?”

“They are, truly, Miss McKenzie; and,” he added, with a merry smile, as he glanced at her bright face and figure, and then turned his gaze upon Mona, “there are some other lovely adornments about the rooms, besides those so skillfully used by the professional decorator.”

“Thank you-of course that was intended as a compliment to ourselves,” the quick-witted little lady returned, as she dropped him a coquettish courtesy; “and,” turning to Mona, “perhaps you would like an introduction to my friend.  Miss Richards, allow me to present you to Mr. Palmer.”

Ray bowed low over the white hand which Mona mechanically offered him, and which he clasped in a way to send a thrill leaping along her nerves that made the violets upon her bosom quiver, as if a breath of wind had swept over them.

She barely had time to acknowledge the presentation, however, when an icy voice behind her remarked: 

“Miss Richards, Mr. Wellington is looking for you to conduct you to your seat in the balcony.”

Turning, Mona saw Mrs. Montague regarding her with a look of cold displeasure, and she knew that she must have witnessed her introduction to Ray, and disapproved of it.

But she was secretly glad that she had been so near, for now she could feel free to recognize her lover whenever they met, without the fear of being questioned as to how she happened to know him.

“Mr. Wellington looking for Miss Richards, did you say, Mrs. Montague?” Ray inquired, quickly improving his opportunity, and looking about him in search of that gentleman.  “Ah!  I see him yonder-Miss Richards, allow me to conduct you to him.”

He offered his arm in a ceremonious way, as any new acquaintance might have done, and led her slowly toward the spot where Mr. Wellington was standing, while Mrs. Montague watched them, with a frown upon her brow.

“I believe I was a fool to allow her to come down; she is far too pretty to appear in public with me; any one would suppose her to be an equal,” she muttered, irritably.  “Who would have believed,” she added, “that she could have gotten herself up in that bewitching style, with only a few bits of white ribbon and not a single ornament!  I wonder where she got her violets?  She has exquisite taste, anyhow.”

But Ray and Mona were unconscious of these jealous remarks.  They were oblivious of everything just then, except the presence of each other and the fortunate circumstances which had thrown them together.

“My darling,” Ray said, under his breath, “that was very cleverly managed, was it not?  Don’t you think I am quite a tactician?  I caught sight of you the moment you appeared; then that bright fairy, Kitty McKenzie, arrived upon the scene, and I knew that my opportunity had come.”

“But you almost took my breath away, Ray, when you bore me off so unceremoniously before Mrs. Montague’s disapproving eyes,” Mona murmured in response.

“Unceremonious!” the young man retorted, with assumed surprise, and a roguish smile.  “Why, I thought I was excessively formal.”

“Yes, in your manner to me; but you did not ask the lady’s permission to conduct me to the host.”

“How was I supposed to know that Miss Richards, to whom I had just been introduced, was not a guest as well as the more gorgeous, but less lovely, Mrs. Montague?” questioned the young lover, lightly.  “But,” he continued, with a sigh, “I cannot bear this sort of thing a great while.  When I see you looking like some beautiful young goddess, I find it very difficult to assume an indifferent exterior.  I nearly forgot myself a moment ago.”

“Perhaps it would have been better if I had remained quietly in my own room,” Mona archly returned, as she gave him a mischievous glance out of her bright eyes.

He drew the hand that lay on his arm close to his side with a fond pressure.

“Indeed, no!” he said, tenderly; “it is better to meet you thus than not at all.  But must I give you up to Mr. Wellington?” he continued, in a wistful tone, as they drew near the gentleman.  “No; I will ask him to direct me to the balcony, and I will conduct you there myself.”

“Ah, Miss Richards, I have been looking for you,” Mr. Wellington remarked, as his eye fell upon the fair girl.  “It is almost time for the opening promenade, and you ought to be in your seat, so as not to miss anything.  But wait a moment; I must speak to this gentleman first,” he concluded, as some one approached him.

“Pray, Mr. Wellington, since you are so engaged, let me conduct Miss Richards to the balcony,” Ray here interposed, as if the thought had just occurred to him.

Mr. Wellington, with a look of relief, readily assented to the proposition, and Ray and his companion were thus permitted to enjoy a little more of each other’s society.

They easily found their way to the balcony, where Ray secured a good position for his fiancee.

“I suppose I will have to leave you now,” he whispered in her ear; “I am engaged to Miss Wellington for the promenade; but, by and by, Mona, I shall steal away and come to you again.”

“Do not leave the dancing on my account, Ray,” Mona pleaded; “it is all so bright and lovely down there.  I know you will enjoy it.”

“I should, if I could have you with me,” he interrupted, fondly; “but, as I cannot, I would much prefer to remain quietly here with you-only that would not do, I suppose.”

“No, indeed,” she returned, decidedly.  “Now you must go, for the orchestra is beginning to play.”

He left her, with a fond hand-clasp that brought a happy smile to her red lips, and went below to seek his host’s daughter.

Mona was very glad, later on, that she was not below with the dancers, for she saw quite a number of people from New York, whom she knew, and she would not have cared to be recognized by them-or rather snubbed by them.

It was a brilliant scene when the grand procession formed.

The pavilion had been very tastefully decorated, and one would hardly have believed that there were only bare, rough boards behind the artistically draped damask silk and lace, which had been used in profusion to conceal them.  The spacious room was brilliantly lighted; flowers and potted plants were everywhere, making the place bright with their varied hues, and sending forth their fragrance into every nook and corner, while the fine orchestra was concealed behind a screen of palms, mingled with oleanders in full bloom.

There must have been at least two hundred people present, the gentlemen, of course, in full evening dress, while the ladies’ costumes were of exceeding richness and beauty, yet among them all, it is doubtful if there was one so happy as the lovely girl who sat so quietly in the balcony and watched the gay scene in which she could not mingle.

There were a good many people sitting there with her, and not a few regarded her with curious and admiring interest, and judged from her dress that she was in mourning, and that she was thus debarred, by the customs of society, from appearing in a ball-room as one of the dancers.  That she was a lady no one doubted for a moment, for her every look and movement betrayed it.

Now and then Ray’s fond glances would seek her, and, catching her eye, a little nod or smile plainly told her how he longed to be with her.

Mona saw Mrs. Montague conspicuous among the dancers, and she appeared to enter into the spirit of the occasion with almost the zest of a young girl during her first season; while it was noticed that Mr. Palmer was her companion more frequently than any other person.

She had come in with him for the grand march, and when the procession for supper was formed she was again upon his arm.

But Mona could not see Ray anywhere among this crowd, and the occupants of the balcony also going below for refreshment, she found herself almost alone in the pavilion.

But it was not for long, for presently she caught the sound of a quick, elastic step, and the next moment her lover was beside her.

“Come back a little, dear, where we can sit in the shadow of the draperies, and we will have a precious half-hour all by ourselves,” he said, in a low tone; “then in a few moments a servant will bring us up some supper.”

“How thoughtful you are, Ray!  But, truly, I do not care for anything to eat,” Mona returned, as she arose and followed him to a cozy nook, where the draperies would partially conceal them from observation.

“I do, my brown-eyed lassie,” Ray responded, emphatically; “after the violent exercise of the last two hours I am quite sure my inner man needs replenishing.  Ah, James, you’re a good fellow,” he continued, as a tan-colored son of the South now made his appearance, bearing a tray of tempting viands.  “Here, take this and drink my health by and by; but come back and get your tray in the course of half an hour.”

The darky showed two rows of brilliant teeth as Ray slipped a silver dollar into his hand; then with a cheerful “Yes, sir-thank’ee, sir,” and a low bow he disappeared as suddenly as he had come.

Mona was hungry, in spite of her assertion to the contrary, and she enjoyed the rich treat that Ray had so thoughtfully provided for her, while he was full of fun and gayety, and they had a merry time up there all by themselves.

When the dancers began to return, Ray quietly remarked: 

“My darling, I am not going down to the company again; I feel guilty to have you sit moping here, while I am playing the gallant cavalier to other girls.”

Mona laughed out softly, but gleefully, at this speech.

“I trust you will always be as conscientious and dutiful, my loyal knight,” she roguishly retorted.

“You will never have cause to question my loyalty, my own,” he whispered, with a look that brought a bright color into her cheeks.

“But I have not been moping,” Mona resumed.  “I have enjoyed being here and watching the dancers very much, and you know I could not join them even if my present position did not debar me,” she tremulously concluded.

“True; I had not thought of that,” the young man said, gravely, as his eye swept over her black dress.

“So, then, if you feel that your duty is below, do not hesitate about leaving me,” Mona urged.

“I am not going,” he firmly reiterated.  “I have been formally introduced to ‘Miss Richards,’ and I have a perfect right to cultivate her acquaintance if I choose.”

Mona did not urge him further; she saw that he really wished to stay, and she was only too happy to have him there by her side; and so the lovers passed two delightful hours, watching the gay throng below, now and then exchanging fond looks or a few low spoken words, and only one pair of eyes among the multitude espied and recognized them.

These belonged to Louis Hamblin, whose eyes lighted with sudden triumph, while an evil smile played over his face as he saw them.

“I thought so,” he muttered, as he noticed Ray Palmer’s attitude of devotion.  “That would prove the truth of my suspicions, if nothing else did so.”