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Dr. Bland, putting down the glass, forbears to torment him further, and moves away; Geoffrey, who has also come in, takes his place. Bending over the dying man, he touches him lightly on the shoulder. "When he was tired of staring, he said, 'I suppose I am speaking to——' and then he stopped. 'Mrs. Rodney,' replied I; and then he raised his hat, and bowed, and gave me his card. After that he mounted again, and rode away." "Poor infant! It is her first essay," says Nolly, pitifully..

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"I hardly think so. You can refuse to see people yourself when it suits you. Only yesterday, when Mr. Boer, our rector, called, and I sent for you, you would not come." He is now speaking with some difficulty, and is looking, not at her, but at the pattern he is drawing on the soft loam at his feet. "Not even to you," very gravely. There is reproof in her tone. They are standing somewhat apart, and her eyes have been turned from him. Now, as she says this, she changes her position slightly, and looks at him very earnestly. From the distant ballroom the sound of the dying music comes sadly, sweetly; a weeping fountain in a corner mourns bitterly, as it seems to Mona, tear by tear, perhaps for some lost nymph. "To England!" she repeats, with a most mournful attempt at unconcern, "Will—will that be soon?".