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"To Bantry," says Mona, growing white again,—"to-night! Oh, do you want to kill me and yourself?" From morn to dewy eve, nothing is discussed in bower or boudoir but flounces, frills, and furbelows,—three f's that are considered at the Towers of far more vital importance than those other three of Mr. Parnell's forming. And Mona, having proved herself quite in good taste in the matter of her own gowns, and almost an artist where coloring is concerned, is appealed to by both girls on all occasions about such things as must be had in readiness "Against their brydale day, which is not long."—As, for instance:— CHAPTER XIX..
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"I will, darlin', shurely," says Bridget, who adores the ground she walks on; and then, turning, she leaves her. Mona lays her hand on Geoffrey's arm. "We thought she was with you," says Captain Rodney, idly. "You have," says Nolly. "Brown night retires; young day pours in apace,.
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