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"Forgive me, Mona," he says, with deep entreaty. "I confess my fault. How could I speak to you as I did! I implore your pardon. Great sinner as I am, surely I shall not knock for forgiveness at your sweet heart in vain!" "The man is eccentric, no matter what Geoffrey may say," is Mona's first thought, when she has perused it carefully for the second time. Then the belief that it may have something to do with the restoration of the lost will takes possession of her, and makes her heart beat wildly. Yes, she will go; she will keep this appointment whatever comes of it. When he has told her a really good story.—quite true, and all about the æsthetic, Lady Lilias, who has declared her intention of calling this afternoon, and against whose wearing society he is strenuously warning her,—and when she has shown no appreciation of the wit contained therein, he knows there is something—as he himself describes it—"rotten in the state of Denmark.".
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Some one is coming quickly towards them. Rodney, dropping Mona's hand, looks hurriedly round, only to see Lady Rodney approaching. "It won't be her fault; but of course her people will object, which amounts to the same thing. She can't go against her people, you know." Two o'clock! The song dies away, and Mona's brow contracts. So late!—the day is slipping from her, and as yet no word, no sign. "I would, of course, with pleasure," stammers the unfortunate Nolly,—"only perhaps Violet heard it before!".
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