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"You mean the Australian?" says Dorothy. "Oh, as for him, he is perfectly utter!—such a man to follow in Nicholas's footsteps!" "A nice time to offer such advice as that," says Rodney, moodily. "But I shan't take it. Mona,"—seizing her hands and speaking more in passionate excitement than even in love,—"say at once you will keep your word and marry me." "That night at Chetwoode you made use of some words that I have never forgotten since.".
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She doesn't want in the very least to know who he is, but thinks it her duty to say something, as the silence being protracted grows embarrassing. "You hurt me!" replies he, in a peculiar tone, that is not so peculiar but it fully satisfies her. And then he smiles, and, seeing old Brian has once more returned to the fire and his pipe, and Biddy has gone for fresh water, he stoops over the reddened basin, and, in spite of all the unromantic surroundings, kisses her as fondly as if roses and moonbeams and dripping fountains and perfumed exotics were on every side. And this, because true romance—that needs no outward fire to keep it warm—is in his heart. "And see what we gained by our haste," says Dorothy, smiling at Mona. "You can't think what a charming sight it was. Like an old legend or a fairy-tale. Was it a minuet you were dancing?" Two o'clock! The song dies away, and Mona's brow contracts. So late!—the day is slipping from her, and as yet no word, no sign..
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