"Then show yourself a dutiful son by drinking a cup of tea with me,"
laughingly returned the lady, as she slipped her white hand within his
arm, and led him toward the great silver urn, where several charming
"buds" were dispensing the fragrant beverage to the numerous guests.

Ray had no alternative, and he well knew that the wily widow had adroitly
taken this way to make it appear to her guests that the son heartily
approved his father's choice.

She possessed infinite tact, and chatted away in the most brilliant
manner, making him wait upon her so assiduously that Ray was sure,
from the looks of those about them, that every one was admiring his
devotion(?) to his future step-mother.

She released him at last, however, and returned to her position beside
his father, and watching his opportunity he stole unobserved from the
room, and up stairs, intending to get away from the house as soon as
possible.

Reaching Mrs. Montague's boudoir, he walked to the bay-window, and looked
out upon the street. He was nervous and excited, and wished to regain his
accustomed composure before going down stairs again.

He stood there a moment absorbed in unpleasant reflections, then turned
to get his coat and hat.

As he did so, one of his feet caught in the heavy damask draperies, and
in trying to disengage it, something crackled sharply beneath it, and he
stooped to ascertain what it was.