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Mona, rising, pushes Violet gently into her own chair, a little black-and-gold wicker thing, gaudily cushioned. "I would rather die than be unkind to you," says Mona, running her fingers with a glad sense of appropriation through his hair. "But this is what I mean; your mother will never forgive your marriage; she will not love me, and I shall be the cause of creating dissension between her and you." Again tears fill her eyes. "To what part of Ireland?".
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Conrad
He moves as though to take up the pistol again; but Mona is beforehand with him, and, closing her fingers round it, holds it firmly. "That is not correct," says Mona. "We have a baronet here, Sir Owen O'Connor, and he is thought a great deal of. I know all about it. Even Lady Mary would have married him if he had asked her, though his hair is the color of an orange. Mr. Rodney,"—laying a dreadful stress upon the prefix to his name,—"go back to England and"—tragically—"forget me?" "No, my son," replied the old man, "but I still have four stone arrow points." "Here, miss,—in the dairy? Law, Miss Mona! don't".
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