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"Eh! you don't mean to say that after all my devotion you would then refuse me?" asks Mr. Darling, with some disgust. The duchess, on the contrary, gives way to mirth, and, leaning back in her chair, laughs softly but with evident enjoyment. Mona contemplates her curiously, pensively. The bell stops, and a loud knock at the hall-door takes its place. Was ever sweeter sound heard anywhere? Mona draws her breath quickly, and then as though ashamed of herself goes on stoically with her task. Yet for all her stoicism her color comes and goes, and now she is pale, and now "celestial, rosy red, love's proper hue," and now a little smile comes up and irradiates her face..

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To this name, given to her in such an unkindly spirit, Mona clings with singular pertinacity. Once when Nolly has called her by it in Lady Rodney's hearing, the latter raises her head, and a remorseful light kindles in her eyes; and when Mr. Darling has taken himself away she turns entreatingly to Mona, and, with a warm accession of coloring, says, earnestly,— Sir Nicholas, just moving his glass from one eye to the other, says "Good evening" to him, bending his head courteously, nay, very civilly, though without a touch, or suspicion of friendliness. He does not put out his hand, however, and Paul Rodney, having acknowledged his salutation by a bow colder and infinitely more distant than his own, turns to Mona. "Away from me," returns he, with some emotion, tightening his clasp around her. "Mrs. Rodney will not mind wasting a quarter of an hour on an old woman," says the duchess, equably..