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"I was not listening at the door," says Mona, with dignity, yet with extreme difficulty: some hand seems clutching at her heart-strings, and he who should have been near to succor her is far away. "I never," haughtily, "listened at a door in all my life. I should not understand how to do it." Her Irish blood is up, and there is a distinct emphasis upon the pronoun. "You have wronged me twice!" "Lady Mary Crighton? Yes, I have met her. An old lady with corkscrew ringlets, patches, and hoops? She is quite grande dame, and witty, like all you Irish people." And witty to talk with,.
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"What could he have wanted? When I came in, he turned pale and levelled the pistol at me. I was frightened, but not much. When I desired him, he laid down the pistol directly, and then I seized it. And then——" She nods her head gayly as she says this, being pleased at her apt quotation from the one book she has studied very closely. "We have all to do that at times," says Sir Nicholas. "And there is another person, mother, I shall be glad if you will send a card to." "But your uncle's death made it all right, didn't it?".
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