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"It is too late," says Lady Rodney, in a stifled tone. "I have said so many things about you, that—that——" "I give you my honor I didn't. I neither saw nor heard but what I tell you. Why, if I had listened I could fill a volume with their nonsense. Three-quarters of an hour it lasted. How a fellow can take forty-five minutes to say, 'Will you marry me?' passes my comprehension. Whenever I am going to do that sort of thing, which of course," looking at Mona, "will be never now, on account of what you said to me some time since,—but if ever I should be tempted, I shall get it over in twenty seconds precisely: that will even give me time to take her hand and get through the orthodox embrace." Then she accompanies him to the door, but gravely, and not with her accustomed gayety. Standing on the door-step he looks at her, and, as though impelled to ask the question because of her extreme stillness, he says, "Of what are you thinking?".
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"It is really hardly worth talking about," she says, grandly. "I was foolish to lay so great a stress on such a trifling matter. It doesn't signify, not in the least. But—but," the blood mounting to her brow, "if ever you speak of it again,—if ever you even mention the word 'heather,'—I shall hate you!" "That is out of my power," says Darling, whom the last speech—and glance that accompanied it—has completely finished. "I only pray you of your grace never to be unkind to me." Mona is enchanted with the many varieties she sees that are unknown to her, and, being very much not of the world, is not ashamed to express her delight. Looking carefully through all, she yet notices that a tiny one, dear to her, because common to her sweet Killarney, is not among his collection. "Impossible," says Mona..
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