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"Well, I suppose I am wrong," says Mona, with a sigh. "Are you very angry with me, Geoff? Would you ever have forgiven me if I had done it?",

"Yes, very glad," returns he, hardly knowing what he says. He has gone back again to his first thoughts,—his mother's boudoir, with its old china, and its choice water-colors that line the walls, and its delicate Italian statuettes. In his own home—which is situated about fourteen miles from the Towers, and which is rather out of repair through years of disuse—there are many rooms. He is busy now trying to remember them, and to decide which of them would look best decked out in crimson and gray, or blue and silver: he hardly knows which would suit her best. Perhaps, after all——,

"Thanks!" returns he, with an ironical laugh. "How excellently your tone agrees with your words?",

Then there is another pause, rather longer than the last, Lady Rodney trifles with the fan in a somewhat excited fashion, and Geoffrey gazes, man-like, at his boots. At last his mother breaks the silence.

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"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.,

After a little time she succeeds in partially lifting the cloud that has fallen on her brother. He has grown strangely fond of her, and finds comfort in her gentle eyes and sympathetic mouth. Like all the rest, he has gone down before Mona, and found a place for her in his heart. He is laughing at some merry absurdity of hers, and is feeling braver, more hopeful, when a little chill seems to pass over him, and, turning, he confronts a tall dark young man who has come leisurely—but with a purpose—to where he and Mona are standing.,

"But you have interested me," says Geoffrey, seating himself on the broad sill of the window, as though preparing for a long dissertation on matters still unknown. "Pray tell me how your brother and his lovely wife—who evidently was as wise and true as she was lovely—got on.",

"Quite sure," says Mona, and then she laughs aloud—a sweet, joyous laugh,—and clasps her hands together with undisguised delight and satisfaction.