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"Ah! Walzes and polkas, you mean?" she says, in a puzzled tone. "Don't now," says Mona, in a low, soothing tone folding her in a close embrace; "this is wrong, foolish. And when things come to the worst they mend." "All that is morbid," says Mona: "you should try to conquer it. It is not healthy.".
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One day one of the women said to the other, "It is very lonely here; we have no one to talk with or to visit." "Show Mr. Rodney in here, Bridget," says Mona unflinchingly, not looking at the distressed maid, or indeed at anything but the unobservant butter. And Bridget, with a sigh that strongly resembles the snort of a war-horse, ushers Mr. Rodney into the dairy. His tone, his emphasis on the pronoun, is significant. "No, I shall pursue it to its end," returns, he, with slow malice, that makes her heart grow cold, "until the day comes that shall enable me to plant my heel upon these aristocrats and crush them out of recognition.".
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