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"And perhaps unused to society," puts in Violet, mildly. As she speaks she picks up a tiny feather that has clung to her gown, and lightly blows it away from her into the air. These last advance in a leisurely manner up the room, yet with somewhat of the sneaking air of those who are in the possession of embarrassing news that must be told before much time goes by. The thought of this perhaps deadens their perception and makes them blind to the fact that the others are unnaturally quiet. To his mother, however, he has sent no word of Mona, knowing only too well how the news of his approaching marriage with this "outer barbarian" (as she will certainly deem his darling) will be received. It is not cowardice that holds his pen, as, were all the world to kneel at his feet and implore him or bribe him to renounce his love, all such pleading and bribing would be in vain. It is that, knowing argument to be useless, he puts off the evil hour that may bring pain to his mother to the last moment..

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And so it is arranged. And that evening Geoffrey indites a letter to Mrs. Manning, Grafton Street, Dublin, that brings a smile to the lips of that cunning modiste. "Yet she would renounce her love, would betray him for the sake of filthy lucre," says Mona, gravely. "I cannot understand that." Indeed, as Dorothy says one day, out of the plenitude of her heart, "How we should possibly have got on without you, Mona, I shudder to contemplate." To her it is always as though he is devoid of name. It is always "he" and "his" and "him," all through, as though no other man existed upon earth..