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"Well, perhaps I was," says Geoffrey, easily: "we are all mad on one subject or another, you know; mine may be Mona. She is an excuse for madness, certainly. At all events, I know I am happy, which quite carries out your theory, because, as Dryden says,— "Are you sure?"—with cold severity. "It is only two days ago since you told me you loved nothing better than an easy-chair." "Yes, really.".
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"She said very little; but she looks good and true. After all, Geoffrey might have done worse." "Malcolm, who was that lovely creature you were talking to just now?" asks his mother, as Lauderdale draws near her. "Tired?" says Rodney, fixing his black, gloomy eyes upon her. "Yes, quite so: that is exactly what I meant," returns he, agreeably. It was not what he meant; but that doesn't count. "How awfully clever you are," he says, presently, alluding to her management of the little pats, which, to say truth, are faring but ill at her hands..
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