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"And, if so, what are you doing here?" says Mona, reprovingly. Lady Rodney regards him curiously, trying to read his downcast face. Has the foolish boy at last been brought to see a flaw in his idol of clay? "But do," goes on Violet, in her soft, even monotone, that is so exactly suited to her face. "It is rather pleasant thinking. Confession, you know, is so soothing; and then there are always the dear saints, with their delightful tales of roses and lilies, and tears that turn into drops of healing balm, and their bones that lie in little glass cases in the churches abroad. It is all so picturesque and pretty, like an Italian landscape. And it is so comfortable, too, to know that, no matter how naughty we may be here, we can still get to heaven at last by doing some great and charitable deed.".
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"He won't go into the stable to-night," says Mona, comfortably. Sir Nicholas, who has come out to meet him, gives him a hearty hand-shake, and a smile that would have been charming if it had not been funereal. Altogether, his expression in such as might suit the death-bed of a beloved friend, His countenance is of an unseemly length, and he plainly looks on Geoffrey as one who has fallen upon evil days. "Then just turn your back for one moment," says Mona simply, "and when my shoes and stockings are on I'll go home with you an' bathe it. Now, don't turn round, for your life!" At this point the house comes in view, and conversation languishes. The women give a small touch to their furs and laces, the men indulge in a final yawn that is to last them until the gates of Anadale close behind them again..
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