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"But why?" says Mona, trying to read his face. "Am I so different from other people?" "My dearest child, do not take things so dreadfully to heart," he says, entreatingly and soothingly: "it is all a mistake; and my mother will, I know, be the first to acknowledge herself in error." "'She is charming at all points,'" goes on Sir Nicholas deliberately screwing his glass into his eye, "'with a mind as sweet as her face.' Oh, it is absurd!" says Sir Nicholas, impatiently. "He is evidently in the last stage of imbecility. Hopelessly bewitched.".
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Altogether, things are very disappointing; though perhaps there is comfort in the thought that no one is waiting round a corner, or lying perdu in a ditch, ready to smash the first comer with a blackthorn stick, or reduce him to submission with a pike, irrespective of cause or reason. Mona, turning not to Nicholas or to Doatie or to Geoffrey but to Lady Rodney, throws the paper into her lap. A doubtful good, a gloss, a glass, a flower, "Place it on the table," says Mona, who, though rich in presence of mind, has yet all a woman's wholesome horror of anything that may go off..
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