Mona obeys, feeling no shrinking from the kindly stout lady who is evidently bent on being "all things" to her. It does occur, perhaps, to her laughter-loving mind that there is a paucity of nose about the duchess, and a rather large amount of "too, too solid flesh;" but she smothers all such iniquitous reflections, and commences to talk with her gayly and naturally.,
"Not in England, perhaps. When I spoke I was thinking of Ireland," says Mona.,
"I bear you no illwill; you mistake me," says Mona, quietly: "I am only sorry for Nicholas, because I do love him.".
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