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"Oh, he is only called Sir Nicholas. Nobody thinks much of that. A baronet is really never of the slightest importance," says Geoffrey, anxiously, feeling exactly as if he were making an apology for his brother. Fisher sat a long time waiting for his friend, but at last he looked down the stream and saw a man on the shore walking toward him. He came along the bank until he had reached his friend. It was Weasel Heart. "I have the book that contains it at Coolnagurtheen," he says, somewhat subdued. "Shall I bring it to you?".
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"Yes, I have got it," also in a subdued whisper. "And, oh, Geoffrey, it is just too lovely! It's downright delicious; and satin, too! It must"—reproachfully—"have cost a great deal, and after all you told me about being poor! But," with a sudden change of tone, forgetting reproach and extravagance and everything, "it is exactly the color I love best, and what I have been dreaming of for years." "Will you have something to eat Geoffrey?" says Mona. "'Him'?—whom?"—demands her husband, with pardonable vivacity. Miss Mona looks puzzled..
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