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"There was Violet," says Lady Rodney. "I don't think I understand you," she says, at length, gravely. "Where would the rest of her be, if she wasn't all in the same place?" "Well, but, after all, one can't be much of a friend if one can't sacrifice one's self sometimes for those one loves," says Mrs. Geoffrey, reproachfully. "You would have done it yourself in my place!".

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"He won't go into the stable to-night," says Mona, comfortably. Of Violet Mansergh—who is still at the Towers, her father being abroad and Lady Rodney very desirous of having her with her—she knows little. Violet is cold, but quite civil, as Englishwomen will be until they know you. She is, besides, somewhat prejudiced against Mona, because—being honest herself—she has believed all the false tales told her of the Irish girl. These silly tales, in spite of her belief in her own independence of thought, weigh upon her; and so she draws back from Mona, and speaks little to her, and then of only ordinary topics, while the poor child is pining for some woman to whom she can open her mind and whom she may count as an honest friend "For talking with a friend," says Addison, "is nothing else but thinking aloud." "Ah," they replied, "he is dead. Five days ago he went out to hunt and he did not come back. What shall we do? We have lost him who cared for us"; and they cried and mourned again. Mona, rising, pushes Violet gently into her own chair, a little black-and-gold wicker thing, gaudily cushioned..