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"Try, try to understand me," entreats she, desperately, following him and laying her hand upon his arm. "It is only this. It would not make you happy,—not afterwards, when you could see the difference between me and the other women you have known. You are a gentleman; I am only a farmer's niece." She says this bravely, though it is agony to her proud nature to have to confess it. "But what is it?" asks Miss Mansergh from behind Lady Rodney's chair, just a little impatiently. Meantime, Violet is having rather a bad time in the boudoir. Lady Rodney refuses to see light anywhere, and talks on in a disjointed fashion about this disgrace that has befallen the family..
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"I really wish," she says, presently, "you would do what I say. Go to the farm, and—stay there." Her eyes fall upon the hearthrug. Half under the fender a small piece of crumpled paper attracts her notice. Still talking, she stoops mechanically and picks it up, smooths it, and opens it. She presses her hands still closer against her eyes, as though to shut out from her own mind the hatefulness of such a thought. And then, with a fresh effort, she brings herself back once more to the question that lies before her. "Don't be unkind to me," says Mona, with just a touch of innocent and bewitching coquetry. She is telling herself she likes this absurd young man better than any one she has met since she came to England, except perhaps Sir Nicholas..
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