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"I would go to the world's end with you," returns she, gently. "Ah! I think you knew that all along." "Mrs. Rodney would perhaps prefer to dance, mother," he says, with some irritation. "Thank you," murmurs he, gratefully. There is evidently comfort in the thought. Then after a moment or two he goes on again, as though following out a pleasant idea: "Some day, perhaps, that vault will hold you too; and there at least we shall meet again, and be side by side.".
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Mona, sitting down to the piano, plays a few chords in a slow, plaintive fashion, and then begins. Paul Rodney has come to the doorway, and is standing there gazing at her, though she knows it not. The ballroom is far distant, so far that the sound of the band does not break upon the silence of the room in which they are assembled. A hush falls upon the listeners as Mona's fresh, pathetic, tender voice rises into the air. "Oh, Geoffrey, how could you do it?" she says, reproachfully, alluding to his marriage,—"you whom I have so loved. What would your poor father have thought had he lived to see this unhappy day? You must have been mad." "I think so, Mona. There is one thing I shall never get." "It was two hours ago," says Mona, gently. "And then it was quite daylight, or at least"—truthfully—"only the beginning of dusk.".
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