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"Well, on the principle that fine feathers make fine birds, I suppose they do," acknowledges Geoffrey, reluctantly. "I hope not, indeed," says Mona giving him her hand with a very flattering haste. "They do look nice," says Mona, "and I am hungry. If we won't be a great trouble to you, Betty," with graceful Hesitation, "I think we should like some.".

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"Well, we have both seen the bay," says Mona, cheerfully,—"Bantry Bay I mean: so we can talk about that. Yet indeed"—seriously—"you cannot be said to have seen it properly, as it is only by moonlight its full beauty can be appreciated. Then, with its light waves sparkling beneath the gleam of the stars, and the moon throwing a path across it that seems to go on and on, until it reaches heaven, it is more satisfying than a happy dream. Do you see that hill up yonder?" pointing to an elevation about a mile distant: "there I sometimes sit when the moon is full, and watch the bay below. There is a lovely view from that spot." Still she hesitates, and he is not slow to notice the eloquent pause. Geoffrey, leading his wife into the hall, pauses beneath a central swinging lamp, to examine her critically. The footman who is in attendance on them has gone on before to announce their coming: they are therefore for the moment alone. Slowly he draws from his pocket a paper, folded neatly, that looks like some old parchment. Mona draws her breath quickly, and turns first crimson with emotion, then pale as death. Opening it at a certain page, he points out to her the signature of George Rodney, the old baronet..