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"Why need you go until after Christmas?" she says, in a tone so low that he can barely hear her. "Is there? Then I shall certainly return for it," says Geoffrey, who is too much of a gentleman to pretend to understand all her words seem to imply. "It is really no journey from this to England." He has heard the remarkable speech made to his mother, and has drawn his own conclusions therefrom. "Geoffrey has been coaching the poor little soul, and putting absurd words into her mouth, with—as is usual in all such cases—a very brilliant result." So he tells himself, and is, as we know, close to the truth..

"I tell you I have not," says Geoffrey. "Nothing of the sort. You are wool-gathering."I tried logging in using my phone number and I was supposed to get a verification code text,but didn't get it. I clicked resend a couple time, tried the "call me instead" option twice but didn't get a call either. the trouble shooting had no info on if the call me instead fails.There was "If that is all," says Geoffrey, with a light laugh, laying his hand over the small brown one that still rests upon his arm, "I think it need hardly separate us. You are, indeed, different from all the other women I have met in my life,—which makes me sorry for all the other women. You are dearer and sweeter in my eyes than any one I have ever known! Is not this enough? Mona, are you sure no other reason prevents your accepting me? Why do you hesitate?" He has grown a little pale in his turn, and is regarding her with intense and jealous earnestness. Why does she not answer him? Why does she keep her eyes—those honest telltales—so obstinately fixed upon the ground? Why does she show no smallest sign of yielding?

Still evening on, and twilight gray "I slept badly last night; I hardly slept at all," she says, plaintively, evading direct reply. For a little while they are silent. He is thinking of Mona; she is wrapped in remembrance of all that has just passed. Presently, looking at her, he discovers she is crying,—bitterly, though quietly. The reaction has set in, and the tears are running quickly down her cheeks. Below is the lake, bathed in moonshine. A gentle wind has arisen, and little wavelets silver-tinged are rolling inward, breaking themselves with tender sobs upon the shore..