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He actually laughs, though faintly, and Mona looks up. Perhaps he has forced himself to this vague touch of merriment (that is even sadder than tears) just to please and rouse her from her despondency,—because the laugh dies almost as it is born, and an additional pallor covers his lips in its stead. "Do you distrust me?" says Rodney,—this time really hurt, because his love for her is in reality deep and strong and thorough. "Yes, exactly; you have it by heart; but what does it mean, and what are you staring at that wall for?" asks he, hopelessly, going to her side..

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Still she hesitates, and he is not slow to notice the eloquent pause. "I shall feel regret," says, Mona, brokenly, the tears running down her cheeks. Mona is sitting in the morning-room, the faithful and ever lively Nolly at her side. According to his lights, she is "worth a ship-load of the whole lot," and as such he haunts her. But to-day she fails him. She is absent, depressed, weighed down with thought,—anything but congenial. She forgets to smile in the right place, says, "Yes" when courtesy requires "No," and is deaf to his gayest sallies. But this word comes not. In vain does the angry urn hiss. The teapot holds aloft its haughty nose for naught. The cups and saucers range themselves in military order all for nothing. Lady Rodney is dissolved in tears..