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"Mrs. Rodney will not mind wasting a quarter of an hour on an old woman," says the duchess, equably. "It is terrible," says Mona, with such exceeding earnestness that he could have hugged her on the spot. Rodney, standing on the threshold at the end of the small hall, can hear distinctly all that passes..

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Her tone is only too significant. His face has grown black again. A heavy frown sits on his brow. "Why make a fool of me?" the poor man asked. "My heart is sad. I am crying." He covered his head with his robe and wept. "How many hours there are in the night that we never count!" says Geoffrey, impatiently. "Good-night, Mona! To-morrow's dawn I shall call my dearest friend." "Your wife?" repeats she, in soft, lingering tones, and a little tender seraphic smile creeps into her eyes and lies lightly on her lips. "But I am not fit to be that, and——".