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He sighs, and looks straight into the lovely frightened eyes bending over him. Then the color comes with a sudden rush back into his cheeks as he tells himself she will look upon him as nothing less than a "poor creature" to lose consciousness and behave like a silly girl for so slight a cause. And something else he feels. Above and beyond everything is a sense of utter happiness, such as he has never known before, a thrill of rapture that has in it something of peace, and that comes from the touch of the little brown hand that rests so lightly on his head. "I do adore somebody," returns that ingenuous youth, staring openly at Mona, who is taking up the last stitch dropped by Lady Rodney in the little scarlet silk sock she is knitting for Phyllis Carrington's boy. "That betrays the meanness of the world," says Mona, slowly and with indignation. "Has not Geoffrey just declared himself to be a younger son?".

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She opens the door, and runs almost into Mona's arms, who is evidently searching for her everywhere. The light from the great pine fire streams over all the room, throwing a rich glow upon the scene, upon the girl's flushed and earnest face, and large happy eyes, and graceful rounded figure, betraying also the grace and poetry of her every movement. "Well?" says Violet, who is smiling, and seems to see a joke where Mona fails to see anything amusing. "It is worse," says Lady Rodney, in a stifled tone, coming out for a brief instant from behind the deluged handkerchief. "He has married a common farmer's niece!".