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The dress is composed of satin of that peculiarly pale blue that in some side-lights appears as white. It is opened at the throat, and has no sleeves to speak of. As though some kindly fairy had indeed been at her beck and call, and had watched with careful eyes the cutting of the robe, it fits to a charm. Upon her head a little mob-cap, a very marvel of blue satin and old lace, rests lovingly, making still softer the soft tender face beneath it. For a little while they are silent. He is thinking of Mona; she is wrapped in remembrance of all that has just passed. Presently, looking at her, he discovers she is crying,—bitterly, though quietly. The reaction has set in, and the tears are running quickly down her cheeks. "Yes, Sir Nicholas,—just an hour and a half. He desired me to say he had had another 'dart' in his rheumatic knee this morning, so hoped you would excuse him.".

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"But—bless me!—how awfully he must be in love with you to resign the Towers for your sake!" says Nolly, suddenly giving words to the thought that has been tormenting him for some time. "By the by," he says, once more restored to something like hope, as he notes her drooping lids and changing color and how she hides from his searching gaze her dark, blue, Irish eyes, that, as somebody has so cleverly expressed it, seem "rubbed into her head with a dirty finger," so marked lie the shadows beneath them, that enhance and heighten their beauty,—"by the by, you told me you had a miniature of your mother in your desk, and you promised to show it to me." He merely says this with a view to gaining more time, and not from any overwhelming desire to see the late Mrs. Scully. Passing his arm round her, he draws her closer to him. "I can give you the size of my waist and my shoulders, and my length," says Mona, thoughtfully, yet with a touch of inspiration..