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 protégée, 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."

"Blast it! I am tired of business," responded her dutiful nephew impatiently, adding: "I suppose the sooner I go, though, the quicker it will be over."

"Yes, I want everything fixed secure before my marriage, for I intend to manage my own private affairs afterward, the same as before," his companion returned.

Louis laughed with some amusement.

"You ought to have been a man, Aunt Marg; your spirit is altogether too self-reliant and independent for a woman," he said.

"I know it; but being a woman, I must try to make the best of the situation in the future, as I have done all my life," she returned, with a self-conscious smile.

"Well, I will look after that matter right away—get your instructions ready and I will be off within an hour or two," said the young man, as he rose and went out, while Mrs. Montague proceeded directly to her own room.

CHAPTER III.

MONA FORESTER.

While Louis Hamblin and Mrs. Montague were engaged in the discussion mentioned in the preceding chapter, below stairs Mona sat in the sewing-room reading the paper of the previous evening. She was waiting for Mrs. Montague to come up to give her some directions about a dress which she was repairing before she could go on with it.

She had read the general news and was leisurely scanning the advertisement columns, as people often do without any special object in view, when her eye fell upon these lines:

WANTED—INFORMATION REGARDING A PERSON named Mona Forester, or her heirs, if any there be. Knowledge to her or their advantage is in the possession of CORBIN & RUSSEL, No.—Broadway, N. Y.

Mona lost all her color as she read this.

"Can it be possible that there is any connection between this Mona Forester and my history?" she murmured thoughtfully; "Mona is a very uncommon name—it cannot be that my mother's surname was Forester, since she was Uncle Walter's sister. Perhaps this Mona Forester may have been some relative for whom she was named—possibly an aunt, or even her mother, and thus I may be one of the heirs. But," she interrupted herself and smiled, "what a romantic creature I am, to be weaving such a story out of a mere advertisement! Still," she added, more thoughtfully, "this woman's heirs cannot be very numerous or it would not be necessary to advertise for them."

She carefully cut out the lines from the paper, slipped the clipping into her pocket-book, then took up her work just as Mrs. Montague entered the room.

She gave instructions regarding the alterations she wished made, and then left Mona by herself again. All day long Mona's mind kept recurring to the advertisement she had cut from the paper, while she had an instinctive feeling that she might be in some way connected with Mona Forester, although how she could not comprehend.

"It would be useless for me to go to Corbin & Russel to make inquiries, for I could give them no reliable information about myself," she said, while considering the matter. "Oh, why could not Uncle Walter have told me more? I could not even prove that I am Mona Montague, for I have no record of my parents' marriage or of my birth. Perhaps, if I could find that woman—Uncle Walter's wife—she might be able to tell me something; but I do not know where to find her. Possibly Mrs. Montague would know whether this Mona Forester is a relative, if I dare ask her; but I do not—I could not—without betraying myself and perhaps spoil all my other plans. Oh, dear, it is so dreadful to be alone in the world and not really know who you are!" she concluded, with a sigh.

About the middle of the next forenoon Mrs. Montague asked her if she would come with her to look over a trunk of clothing preparatory to beginning upon spring sewing.

Mona readily complied with her request, and together they went up to a room in the third story. There were a number of trunks in the room, and unlocking one of these, Mrs. Montague threw back the lid and began to lay out the contents upon the floor. Mona was astonished at the number and richness of the costumes thus displayed, and thought her income must be almost unlimited to admit of such extravagance.

She selected what she thought might do to be remodeled, and then she began to refold what was to be replaced in the trunk.

Among other things taken from it, there was a large, square pasteboard box, and Mrs. Montague had just lifted it upon her lap to examine its contents to see if there was anything in it which she would need, when Mary appeared at the door, saying that Mr. Palmer was below and wished to see her.

Mrs. Montague arose quickly, and in doing so, the box slipped from her hands to the floor and its contents, composed of laces, ribbons, and gloves, went sliding in all directions.

"Oh dear! what a mess!" she exclaimed, with a frown of annoyance, "You will have to gather them up and rearrange them, Ruth, for I must go down. Just