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"Oh, I dare say. Yes, sometimes: but—" she hesitates, and this time the expression of her face cannot be misunderstood: dejection betrays itself in every line—"but it is not so with you, is it? No aunt has left you anything?" "N—o. As far as I can remember," says Geoffrey, thoughtfully, pulling his moustache, "you were so overcome with delight at the unexpected honor I did you, that——" "Place it on the table," says Mona, who, though rich in presence of mind, has yet all a woman's wholesome horror of anything that may go off..
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Conrad
"I want you to leave Ireland—not next month, or next week, but at once. To-morrow, if possible." It is the 20th of February; already winter is dying out of mind, and little flowers are springing everywhere. Mona, horror-stricken, goes quickly over to her, and touches her lightly on the shoulder. "You shall guess," says Mrs. Geoffrey, gayly, with a little laugh. "Now, where do you think?".
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