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"Yes; the one with the brown feather," returns Mona, quickly, and with a smile radiant and grateful, that sinks into Violet's heart and rests there. "Morn, in the white wake of the morning star, "You are an artiste," says Geoffrey, with a deep sigh when she has finished. "Who taught you, child? But there is no use in such a question. Nobody could teach it to you: you must feel it as you sing. And yet you are scarcely to be envied. Your singing has betrayed to me one thing: if ever you suffer any great trouble it will kill you.".
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"Oh, no," says Mona, gently; "only I should like you better, of course, if you were not the cause of our undoing." "Yes," says Mona, devoutly hoping he is going to say he means to refuse it. But such devout hope is wasted. "Yes; I said I was Mrs. Rodney." He is overcome with contrition, and would perhaps have said something betraying his scorn of himself, but she prevents him..
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