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The momentous Friday comes at last, and about noon Mona and Geoffrey start for the Towers. They are not, perhaps, in the exuberant spirits that should be theirs, considering they are going to spend their Christmas in the bosom of their family,—at all events, of Geoffrey's family which naturally for the future she must acknowledge as hers. They are indeed not only silent, but desponding, and as they get out of the train at Greatham and enter the carriage sent by Sir Nicholas to meet them their hearts sink nearly into their boots, and for several minutes no words pass between them. "Well, it was in a theatre I heard it," confesses Mona, meekly: "it was a great lord who said it on the stage, so I thought it would be all right." 'Meanwhile, apart, in the twilight gloom of a window's embrasure.
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"Thanks, dear; you are always good," murmurs Lady Rodney, who has ever an eye to the main chance. "You are at Mangle Farm," returns she. Then, judging by the blank expression on his face that her words bring him no comfort, she continues with a smile, "That doesn't seem to help you much, does it?" "Awfully early," puts in Geoffrey. "How d'ye do, Mrs. Rodney? Is Lady Rodney at home? I hope so," says Mrs. Carson, a fat, florid, smiling, impossible person of fifty..
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