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"But, as I said to Lady Rodney, suppose I haven't a headache," retorts Mona, triumphantly. "It is to be regretted you cannot like England, as you have made up your mind to live in it; and yet I think——" She pauses. "It was only a little touch of nature," explains her Grace. "On that congratulate yourself. Nature is at a discount these days. And I—I love nature. It is so rare, a veritable philosopher's stone. You only told me what my glass tells me daily,—that I am not so young as I once was,—that, in fact, when sitting next pretty children like you, I am quite old.".
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"Geoffrey," says Mona, in a low tone, slipping her hand into his in a half-shamed fashion, "I have five hundred pounds of my own, would it—would it be of any use to Sir Nicholas?" Half alarmed, he lays his hand gently on her shoulder, and, as she struggles quickly into life again, he draws her into his arms. Mona, turning not to Nicholas or to Doatie or to Geoffrey but to Lady Rodney, throws the paper into her lap. "Then just turn your back for one moment," says Mona simply, "and when my shoes and stockings are on I'll go home with you an' bathe it. Now, don't turn round, for your life!".
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