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A strange feeling of shyness is weighing upon her. Her stalwart English lover is standing close beside her, having risen from his chair with his eyes on hers, and in his shirt-sleeves looking more than usually handsome because of his pallor, and because of the dark circles that, lying beneath his eyes, throw out their color, making them darker, deeper, than is their nature. How shall she bare the arm of this young Adonis?—how help to heal his wound? Oh, Larry Moloney, what hast thou not got to answer for! "There," said the swans; "you are now close to the Sun's lodge. Follow that trail, and soon you will see it." "I don't like Mr. Boer," says Mona, "and it was not me he came to see.".
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This eulogy on the departing Larry she delivers with much unction, and a good deal of check apron in the corner of one eye. It was all terrible,—this young man coming and the thought that, no matter how they might try to disbelieve in his story, still it might be true. And then the young man came, and they saw that he was very dark, and very morose, and very objectionable. But he seemed to have more money than he quite know what to do with; and when he decided on taking a shooting-box that then was vacant quite close to the Towers, their indignation knew no bounds. And certainly it was execrable taste, considering he came there with the avowed determination to supplant, as lord and master, the present owner of the Towers, the turrets of which he could see from his dining room windows. Mona has no time to hear more; pale, but collected, she walks deliberately into the room and up to Lady Rodney..
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