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"It is not a bad name in Ireland. There are very good people of that name: the Vincent Scullys,—everybody has heard of them," says Violet, gently. But her friend will not consent to believe anything that may soften the thought of Mona. The girl has entrapped her son, has basely captured him and made him her own beyond redemption; and what words can be bad enough to convey her hatred of the woman who has done this deed? "It can't be much," says Geoffrey, who, to confess the truth, is by this time feeling a little sick and faint. "I never knew I was touched till now. Come, let us get back to the farm." "Tired?" says Rodney, fixing his black, gloomy eyes upon her..
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Mona throws open the door, and the visitors sail in, all open-eyed and smiling, with their very best company manners hung out for the day. Nicholas is looking angry. Jack, sinking into a chair near Violet, says, in a whisper, that "it is a beastly shame his mother cannot let Mona alone. She seems, by Jove! bent on turning Geoffrey against her." "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. "'By and by' I shall be your wife," says Mona, archly, "and then my days for receiving flattery will be at an end. Sure you needn't grudge me a few pretty words now.".
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