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"You, Ryan?" says Mona, with an attempt at unconcern, but her tone is absolutely frozen with fear. "If you are going to preach to me on that subject, of course I have nothing more to say. But I wish you would come with me to the Nugents." The next morning the young man awoke and went on toward the next butte. It took him a long summer's day to get there, but he found there no lodge, so he lay down and slept. Again he dreamed. In his dream he saw a little lodge, and saw an old woman come to the door and heard her call to him. He went into the lodge, and she spoke to him..

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"Never mind all that," says Doatie: "what did she say?" Mona, sitting down to the piano, plays a few chords in a slow, plaintive fashion, and then begins. Paul Rodney has come to the doorway, and is standing there gazing at her, though she knows it not. The ballroom is far distant, so far that the sound of the band does not break upon the silence of the room in which they are assembled. A hush falls upon the listeners as Mona's fresh, pathetic, tender voice rises into the air. "My dear child, don't talk like that," he says, nervously: "you're done up, you know. Come to bed." Castles within the fire grow grand and tall, and then crumble into dust; castles in Mona's brain fare likewise. The shadows dance upon the walls; silently imperceptibly, the minutes flit away..