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"Oh, one at a time," says Nolly. "She couldn't do it all at once. Such a stretch of fancy requires thought." "Impossible," says Mona. "I know," says Mona, sadly..
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"Oh not for ever so long," returns she, with much and heartless unconcern. (His spirits sink to zero.) "Certainly not until Friday," she goes on, carelessly. (As this is Wednesday, his spirits once more rise into the seventh heaven.) "Or Saturday, or Sunday, or perhaps some day next week," she says, unkindly. Other wise words she spoke to him, telling him what he should do; also she gave him a bundle of mysterious things which would help him on his journey. "It is nearly over," he gasps, painfully. "Say good-by to me. Do not quite forget me, not utterly. Give me some small place in your memory, though—so unworthy." Mona, in spite of her haste, stoops to pluck a bunch of violets and place them in her breast, as she goes upon her way. Up to this the beauty of the early spring day has drawn her out of herself, and compelled her to forget her errand. But as she comes near to the place appointed for the interview, a strange repugnance to go forward and face Paul Rodney makes her steps slower and her eyes heavy. And even as she comprehends how strongly she shrinks from the meeting with him, she looks up and sees the chestnut-tree in front of her, and the stream rushing merrily to the ocean, and Paul Rodney standing in his favorite attitude with his arms folded and his sombre eyes fixed eagerly upon her..
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