Mona | Page 8

I would ask that you regard this matter as strictly
confidential. I have been miserably fooled, and met with a heavy loss,
but I do not wish all Chicago to ring with the story."
"You may trust me, and accept my assurance that I am sincerely sorry
for you," the jeweler returned, in a tone of sympathy, and now entirely
convinced of the honesty of the young man. "And let me tell you," he
added, "for your personal benefit, while examining those crescents
yesterday, I put a private mark on the back of the settings with a
steel-pointed instrument; it was like this"--making a cipher on a card
and passing it to him. "If you should ever be fortunate enough to come
across them again, you could identify them by it."
"Thank you," Mr. Cutler returned, as he put it carefully away.
Then he wished the gentleman a polite good-day, and went out of the
store, a wiser, but a somewhat poorer, man than he had been the
previous day.
He was almost crushed by the wrong which had been perpetrated
against him. He had been thoroughly and artfully deceived. Mrs.
Bently--if indeed that was her real name, which he doubted--had
seemed such a modest and unassuming woman, so frank, and sweet,
and ingenuous, that he would have indignantly resented it had any one
hinted to him that she was not all that she appeared to be.

He had never met any woman who possessed such power to charm him,
and yet she had never seemed to seek his notice--had never appeared to
thrust herself upon him in any way. He had instead sought her and been
especially attracted to her by the very simplicity and naturalness of her
deportment; and this rude awakening to the fact of her duplicity was
therefore far more bitter than the loss of his money, although that was
considerable.
He was greatly depressed, but, on leaving Mr. Arnold's store, he
proceeded directly to the street and number which she had given as her
future place of residence. It proved to be an empty house with the sign
"To Rent" staring at him from several windows.
He next sought for the lawyer who, Mrs. Bently had told him, had
conducted her business affairs. There was no such person to be found.
Then, his indignation getting the better of his grief and disappointment,
he sought a detective, told his story, and gave the case into his hands.
"Keep the matter quiet, Rider," he said, "but spare no expense to find
the woman. If she is a professional thief, she will try the same trick on
some one else; and though we may not be able to bring her to justice in
this case, since I so rashly tied my hands by giving her that writing, yet
I should like to give my evidence against her for the benefit of some
other unfortunate victim."
Thus the matter rested for the time, and Justin Cutler once more threw
himself heart and soul into business, vowing that he would never trust a
woman again.
"But I'll keep the bogus crescents, to remind me of my folly, for of
course I shall never see the real ones again."
Did he?
CHAPTER III.
MONA.

"Mona, come here, dear, please."
A gentleman, of perhaps forty-five, looked up from the desk where he
had been writing, as he uttered this request; but his voice trembled
slightly, and was replete with tenderness, as he spoke the name which
heads this chapter.
The girl whom he addressed was sitting by a window on the opposite
side of the room, and she lifted her bright brown head and turned a pair
of dark, liquid eyes upon the speaker.
"Yes, Uncle Walter," she cheerfully responded, as, laying down her
book, she arose and moved gracefully across the room toward the
handsome, aristocratic-looking man at the desk, who watched her every
motion with a fond intentness that betrayed a deep and absorbing
affection for her.
He frowned slightly, however, as she spoke, and a half-bitter,
half-scornful smile curled his finely chiseled lips for an instant.
The young girl was tall and exquisitely formed, but her face was one
not easily described. Her features were delicate and clearly defined, yet
with a certain roundness about them such as one sees in a faultlessly
sculptured statue, while unusual strength of character was written
indelibly upon them. Her hair was slightly curly, and arranged with a
careful carelessness that was very becoming, while here and there a
stray ringlet, that had escaped the silver pin that confined it, seemed to
coquet with the delicate fairness of her neck and brow.
Reaching her uncle's side, she laid one white hand upon his shoulder,
then slid it softly about his neck.
"What is it, Uncle