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Mrs. Geoffrey, thus addressed, rouses herself, and says, "What can I do for you?" in a far-away tone that proves she has been in thought-land miles away from every one. Through her brain some words are surging. Her mind has gone back to that scene in the conservatory last night when she and Paul Rodney had been together. What was it he had said? What were the exact words he had used? She lays two fingers on her smooth white brow, and lets a little frown—born only of bewildered thought—contract its fairness. "Perhaps you do," she says, sadly. "And I, too,—you know how dear you all are to me; and it is just that that makes my heart so sore. But it is too late to warn. The time is past when words might have availed." "Oh, no," says Mona, gently; "only I should like you better, of course, if you were not the cause of our undoing.".

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"Why make a fool of me?" the poor man asked. "My heart is sad. I am crying." He covered his head with his robe and wept. "I'm a long way off being rich," says the young man, who is palpably amused, in spite of a valiant effort to suppress all outward signs of enjoyment. "I'm awfully poor when compared with some fellows. I dare say I must come in for something when my other uncle dies, but at present I have only fifteen hundred pounds a year." Paul turns his head, and as he sees Geoffrey a quick spasm that betrays fear crosses his face. Then, after a pause, "Where will they bury me?" he asks, suddenly. "Do you think they will put me in the family vault?" He seems to feel some anxiety on this point..