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"He was there before me, and almost immediately he drew the will from his pocket, and said he would give it to me if—if—well, he gave it to me," says Mrs. Geoffrey, changing color as she remembers her merciful escape. "And he desired me to tell you, Nicholas, that he would never claim the title, as it was useless to him and it sits so sweetly on you. And then I clutched the will, and held it tightly, and ran all the way back with it, and—and that's all!" "I pity your wife," says Mona, almost severely. Mother of stars! the heavens look up to thee.".

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"Let me go, Mona," says Geoffrey, forcing her arms from round him and almost flinging her to one side. It is the first and last time he ever treats a woman with roughness. Then he turns to Mona. He is a tall young man, about thirty-two, yet looking younger, with a somewhat sallow complexion, large dreamy brown eyes, and very fine sleek black hair. He wears neither moustache nor whiskers, principally for the very good reason that Nature has forgotten to supply them. For which perhaps he should be grateful, as it would have been a cruel thing to hide the excessive beauty of his mouth and chin and perfectly-turned jaw. These are his chief charms, being mild and thoughtful, yet a trifle firm, and in perfect accordance with the upper part of his face. He is hardly handsome, but is certainly attractive. "I do not wish to lay claim to anything," says Mona, throwing up her head with a little proud gesture,—"least of all to what does not by right belong to me. To be Mrs. Geoffrey is all I ask.".