he same person; her features are
entirely different, and she is too stout."

"Well, that may be; but I am impressed that some of those stones belong
to us," Ray said, following the woman with a critical glance.

"If any of them are ours, we have no means of identifying them," Mr.
Palmer responded. "I have given them up as a dead loss, and do not
believe that we shall ever discover the thief."

Ray looked very sober.

"I am very sore over that affair, father," he said, gravely. "If I had
not allowed my head to be turned by that fascinating woman, I never
should have lost them. She just smiled and talked all the sense out of
me. I ought never to have removed my hand from that package, even to
prevent a dozen tailor-made dresses from being torn, and then she could
not have stolen it."

"Don't grieve over it, Ray, for it will not avail," his father returned,
kindly. "Experience is the best teacher, and no one will ever rob us in
the same way again."

"I do not think that is likely, and yet I cannot get over it; I cannot
bear to consider the gems irretrievably lost, even yet."

"You may as well, for I am sure we shall never see any of them again,"
said Mr. Palmer, calmly.

"Who is this lady approaching us?" Ray asked, after a moment. "You were
talking to her when I motioned to you."

Mr. Palmer glanced up.

"That is a Mrs. Montague--"

"Montague!" interrupted Ray, in a startled tone. "Can she be anything to
Mona?"

"No, nothing. I asked the question upon learning her name," his father
answered.

Ray sighed heavily; then, as his glance still lingered upon the beautiful
woman, he exclaimed:

"Isn't she lovely? I believe she is the purest blonde I have ever seen.
Her hair is like spun gold, her features are faultless, and her neck and
arms are as perfect as if sculptured from marble."

"Take care, Ray," said his father, with a sly smile; "people say that she
is a perfect siren. I have myself been warned against her to-night."

"Pshaw!" retorted the young man. "Where is her husband?"

"She has none, and therein lies the danger."

"Ah! a widow! How old is she?"

"Not more than twenty-eight or thirty, I judge--at least, she does not
look it in full dress, and she is very charming in manner. Merrill says
that all the men, both old and young, are making fools of themselves
over her."

"Well, then, you and I will not help to swell the list," said Ray,
curtly, a trifle irritated that his staid and dignified