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Still she hesitates, and he is not slow to notice the eloquent pause.,Rodney, standing on the threshold at the end of the small hall, can hear distinctly all that passes.,"You may bet anything you like on that," says Geoffrey, cheerfully. "She cares for me just about as much as I care for her,—which means exactly nothing.","Because, of course, you will, you must. Your world is not mine.","I am not Mr. Rodney: Jack is that. Can't you call me anything else?",Dew-diadem'd.",But when they have turned a corner and are quite out of sight and hearing, Rodney stops short and says, hurriedly,—,And then she sings again, some old-world song of love and chivalry that awakes within one a quick longing for a worthier life. Her sweet voice rings through the room, now glad with triumph, now sad with a "lovely melancholy," as the words and music sway her. Her voice is clear and pure and full of pathos! She seems to follow no rule; an "f" here or a "p" there, on the page before her, she heeds not, but sings only as her heart dictates.,Mona, stooping, caresses them fondly. They are a part of her old life, and dear, therefore, to her own faithful heart. Having partly undressed, she sits down upon the hearthrug with them, and, with both their big heads upon her lap, sits staring into the fire, trying to while away with thought the hours that must elapse before Geoffrey can return to her again.,She is a very little girl, quite half a head shorter than Mona, and, now that one can see her more plainly as she stands on the hearthrug, something more than commonly pretty.,The birds, as though once more led by the balmy mildness of the day into the belief that summer has not yet forsaken them, are singing in the topmost branches of the trees, from which, with every passing breeze, the leaves fall lightly.,"It is," replies he, absently. Then, below his breath, "and well worth fighting for.".