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"They've done it at last," says Mr. Darling, in a low, compressed voice. "It is an accomplished fact. I heard 'em myself!" She opens the door, and runs almost into Mona's arms, who is evidently searching for her everywhere. Violet, coming in a few moments later, finds them still discussing the all-important theme..
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"It is quite simple: there is no deception," says Mr. Darling, addressing the room, with gracious encouragement in his tone, shrugging his shoulders and going through all the airs and graces that belong to the orthodox French showman. "Good-by," says Mona, softly, giving him her hand. He keeps it fast in both his own. Just at this moment it dawns upon her for the first time that this man loves her with a love surpassing that of most. The knowledge does not raise within her breast—as of course it should do—feelings of virtuous indignation: indeed, I regret to say that my heroine feels nothing but a deep and earnest pity, that betrays itself in her expressive face. "That's right, then," says Mona, quite pleased at her success. "Oh, I dare say. Yes, sometimes: but—" she hesitates, and this time the expression of her face cannot be misunderstood: dejection betrays itself in every line—"but it is not so with you, is it? No aunt has left you anything?".
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