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At this moment Geoffrey comes into the room and up to Mona. He takes no notice whatever of her companion, "Mona, will you come and sing us something?" he says, as naturally as though the room is empty. "Nolly has been telling the duchess about your voice, and she wants to hear you. Anything simple, darling,"—seeing she looks a little distressed at the idea: "you sing that sort of thing best." "Do not ever speak to me like that again," says Mona, turning upon him eyes humid with disappointment, yet free from wrath of any kind. "As for Mr. Moore," with a curl of her short upper lip that it does him good to see, and a quick frown, "why, he is as old as the hills, and as fat as Tichborne, and he hasn't got a single hair on his head!" For some time they talk together, and then the duchess, fearing lest she may be keeping Mrs. Geoffrey from the common amusement of a ballroom, says, gently,—.
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"Do you know," says Mona, with a slight shiver, and a little nervous laugh, pressing closer to her side, "I have lost half my courage of late? I seem to be always anticipating evil." There is, for example, her unavoidable touch of brogue, her little gesture of intense excitement, and irrepressible exclamation when anything is said that affects or interests her, and her laugh, which, if too loud for ordinary drawing-room use, is yet so sweet and catching that involuntarily it brings an answering laugh to the lips of those who hear it. "It is really hardly worth talking about," she says, grandly. "I was foolish to lay so great a stress on such a trifling matter. It doesn't signify, not in the least. But—but," the blood mounting to her brow, "if ever you speak of it again,—if ever you even mention the word 'heather,'—I shall hate you!" The father said, "That is not a dog; throw it away!" The little boy cried, but his father made him take the dog out of the lodge. Then the boy found the root digger, and again picking up the dog, he carried both into the lodge, saying, "Look, mother; see what a pretty root digger I have found.".
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