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"But to find you like this"—begins Mona. And then overcome by grief and agitation, she covers her face with her hands, and bursts into tears. Perhaps Longfellow has more cleverly—and certainly more tenderly—than any other poet described the earlier approaches of the god of Love, when he says,— Jenkins, the antediluvian butler, proves himself a man of his word. There are, evidently, "no two ways" about Jenkins. "Seeking the seclusion that her chamber grants" about ten o'clock to-night, after a somewhat breezy evening with her mother-in-law, Mona descries upon her hearthrug, dozing blissfully, two huge hounds, that raise their sleepy tails and heads to welcome her, with the utmost condescension, as she enters her room..

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"Yet the Princess D—— always calls her train a 'tail,'" says Violet, turning on her piano-stool to make this remark, which is balm to Mona's soul: after which she once more concentrates her thoughts on the instrument before her, and plays some odd old-fashioned air that suits well the dance of which they have been speaking. "Oh, nonsense!" says Rodney, who is in high good humor and can see no rocks ahead. "When my mother sees you she will fall in love with you on the spot, as will everybody else. But look here, you know, you mustn't call her Mrs. Rodney!" Half alarmed, he lays his hand gently on her shoulder, and, as she struggles quickly into life again, he draws her into his arms. "Mrs. Rodney will not mind wasting a quarter of an hour on an old woman," says the duchess, equably..