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"That night at Chetwoode you made use of some words that I have never forgotten since." "No,—no aunt," returns Rodney, speaking the solemn truth, yet conveying a lie: "I have not been blessed with maiden aunts wallowing in coin." The music, soft and almost mournful, echoes through the room; the feet keep time upon the oaken floor; weird-like the two forms move through the settled gloom..
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Then some one puts on her again the coat she had taken off such a short time since, and some one else puts on her sealskin cap and twists her black lace round her white throat, and then she turns to go on her sad mission. All their joy is turned to mourning, their laughter to tears. "You are all wet. Do go home and change your clothes," says Mona, who is still sitting on the grass with her gown spread carefully around her. "Or perhaps"-reluctantly—"it will be better for you to go to the farm, where Bridget will look after you." Violet and Dorothy are to be married next month, both on the same day, at the same hour, in the same church,—St. George's Hanover Square, without telling. From old Lord Steyne's house in Mayfair, by Dorothy's special desire, both marriages are to take place, Violet's father being somewhat erratic in his tastes, and in fact at this moment wandering aimlessly among the Himalayas. Mona is watching him intently..
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