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"Yes, blue looks very nice on me. Geoffrey, if Uncle Brian hears of this, will he be angry?" "Impossible is a word only to be found in the dictionary of fools. You are not a fool. This is a mere fad of yours and I think you hardly know why you are insisting on it." She makes various attempts at thinking it out. She places her pretty hands upon her prettier brows, under the mistaken impression common to most people that this attitude is conducive to the solution of mysteries; but with no result. Things will not arrange themselves..

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Thus half an hour goes by. Then Geoffrey, growing uneasy, raises his head and looks at Mona. From where he sits the bed is hidden from him, but he can see that she is still kneeling beside it, her hand in Rodney's, her face hidden in the bedclothes. Altogether, things are very disappointing; though perhaps there is comfort in the thought that no one is waiting round a corner, or lying perdu in a ditch, ready to smash the first comer with a blackthorn stick, or reduce him to submission with a pike, irrespective of cause or reason. The breeze is so light that hardly a trembling of the leafless branches breaks the deadly silence that reigns all round: "Where are we now?" says Geoffrey, suddenly, stopping and facing "the boy.".