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"But why?" asks the duchess. "I am so glad you are poor," says Mona. "If you were rich or even well off, I should never consent,—never!" She is clad in a snowy gown of simple cotton, that sits loosely to her lissom figure yet fails to disguise the beauty of it. A white kerchief lies softly on her neck. She has pulled up her sleeves, so that her arms are bare,—her round, soft, naked arms that in themselves are a perfect picture. She is standing with her head well thrown back, and her hands—full of corn—lifted high in the air, as she cries aloud, "Cooee! Cooee!" in a clear musical voice..
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As she comes to the gravel walk that leads from the shrubberies to the sweep before the hall door, she encounters the disgraced Ridgway, doing something or other to one of the shrubs that has come to grief during the late bad weather. "This sliding," said the woman, "is very good fun." And made a sunshine in the shady place." "O Death! thou strange, mysterious power, seen every day yet never understood but by the incommunicative dead, what art thou?".
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