Miss Kitty, all elated with the success of her project, and never dreaming that Mona would not enjoy it, ran away to bring her down. She found her in her own room reading a recent magazine. "Come," she said, with gleaming eyes, "you are to join us in the german. I have Mrs. Montague's permission, and we are all waiting for you." "I thank you very much Miss McKenzie," Mona responded, flushing, "but I do not believe I will go down." "Oh, do; we need just one more lady, and some of the gentlemen will have to sit it out if you do not. Miss Nellie Wellington has to play for us, or she would dance, so please come," Miss Kitty urged, looking disappointed enough over Mona's unexpected refusal. Mona shrank from joining the dancers, or from mingling with the company, for several reasons. She had no heart for dancing, so soon after her uncle's death; she disliked to go among people who would regard her as an inferior, and only tolerate her presence because she would help to "fill out," while last, but not least, she wished to keep out of Louis Hamblin's way. But she did not like to appear disobliging or unappreciative of Miss McKenzie's kindness, and a bright idea suddenly occurred to her. "I really do not care to dance, Miss McKenzie, although it is very thoughtful of you to invite me; but if it will be agreeable to the company, I will take Miss Wellington's place at the piano, and she can make up the desired number." "Oh, _can_ you play?" cried Kitty, both astonished and delighted. "That will help us out, and I am sure it is very nice of you to offer, for I think it is awfully stupid to play for dancing. Come, then, and I know everybody will be surprised as well as pleased." And winding her arm about the slender waist of the fair seamstress, they went down stairs together, Miss McKenzie chatting away as sociably as if they had always been friends and equals. Mrs. Montague lifted her eyebrows with well-bred astonishment when the young lady informed the company that Miss Richards preferred to preside at the piano, and a number of others appealed to share her surprise, and looked somewhat skeptical, also. They were more amazed still when she modestly took her seat and began her duties, for Mona was perfectly at home in music, and soon made the room ring with inspiring melody for the eager dancers. "Who is that beautiful and talented girl?" Amos Palmer asked of his host, when the young people were tired of dancing, and Mona quietly withdrew from the room. "Her name is Ruth Richards, I believe," Mr. Wellington replied. "You 'believe!' Isn't she a guest here?" inquired Mr. Palmer, with surprise. "No; she is simply a maid in the employ of Mrs. Montague." "Well, it is a great pity." "What is a great pity?" "That such a lovely young lady should have to serve any one in that capacity; she is beautiful and talented enough to fill any position." And this was Amos Palmer's opinion regarding Ray's unknown lady-love. CHAPTER XVII.