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"Well, as I say, I shall soon," returns Mona, brightening, "because Geoffrey has promised to teach me." Mona grows livid, and takes a step forward. "I shall not be too nervous," says Mona, but her face blanches afresh even as she speaks; and Geoffrey sees it..

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It is Paul Rodney. "Yes, I am Mrs. Rodney," says Mona, feeling some pride in her wedded name, in spite of the fact that two whole months have gone by since first she heard it. At this question, though, as coming from a stranger, she recoils a little within herself, and gathers up her gown more closely with a gesture impossible to misunderstand. "I don't like Mr. Boer," says Mona, "and it was not me he came to see." A strange feeling of shyness is weighing upon her. Her stalwart English lover is standing close beside her, having risen from his chair with his eyes on hers, and in his shirt-sleeves looking more than usually handsome because of his pallor, and because of the dark circles that, lying beneath his eyes, throw out their color, making them darker, deeper, than is their nature. How shall she bare the arm of this young Adonis?—how help to heal his wound? Oh, Larry Moloney, what hast thou not got to answer for!.