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Mona, stooping, caresses them fondly. They are a part of her old life, and dear, therefore, to her own faithful heart. Having partly undressed, she sits down upon the hearthrug with them, and, with both their big heads upon her lap, sits staring into the fire, trying to while away with thought the hours that must elapse before Geoffrey can return to her again. "Quite sure," returns her future mother-in law, grimly. "I never speak, Dorothy, without foundation for what I say." Pushing open the door very gently, she enters the room, the two dogs at her heels..
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"Do not stir. Your head is badly cut, an' it bleeds still," says Mona, with a shoulder. "I cannot stop it. Oh, what shall I do?" "It is pretty, I think," she says. "The duke," with a grave look, "gave it to me just two years after my son was born." She lifts her luminous eyes to his, and regards him fixedly as she speaks, full of hopeful excitement. Her eyes have always a peculiar fascination of their own, apart from the rest of her face. Once looking at her, as though for the first time impressed with this idea, Geoffrey had said to her, "I never look at your eyes that I don't feel a wild desire to close them with a kiss." To which she had made answer in her little, lovable way, and with a bewitching glance from the lovely orbs in question, "If that is how you mean to do it, you may close them just as often as ever you like." "Yes," says Mona, devoutly hoping he is going to say he means to refuse it. But such devout hope is wasted..
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