"It is worse," says Lady Rodney, in a stifled tone, coming out for a brief instant from behind the deluged handkerchief. "He has married a common farmer's niece!",
"Come in for a little while and rest yourself," says Mona, hospitably, "while I get the brandy and send it up to poor Kitty.",
The air is full of death and desolation. It is cold and raw, and no vestige of vegetation is anywhere. In the distance, indeed, she can see some fir-trees that alone show green amidst a wilderness of brown, and are hailed with rapture by the eye, tired of the gray and sullen monotony. But except for these all is dull and unfruitful..
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