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"Poor thing!" says Mona, sympathetically, which sympathy, by the by, is utterly misplaced, as Lady Rodney thought her husband, if anything, an old bore, and three months after his death confessed to herself that she was very glad he was no more. "No, she was not in the lodge, but two women were approaching as I left it. I think they were the girl and her mother." It is a very curious little room they enter,—yet pretty, withal, and suggestive of care and affection, and certainly not one to be laughed at. Each object that meets the view seems replete with pleasurable memory,—seems part of its gentle mistress. There are two windows, small, and with diamond panes like the parlor, and in the far end is a piano. There are books, and some ornaments, and a huge bowl of sweetly-smelling flowers on the centre-table, and a bracket or two against the walls. Some loose music is lying on a chair..
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"Is that the girl who spoke to you, Geoffrey, at the tea room door?" asks Mona, with some animation. "Well said!" cries the old man from the chimney-corner, slapping his knee with delight; "well said, indeed! It reminds me of the ould days when we'd swear to any lie to please the lass we loved. Ay, very good, very good." "What are you thinking of?" asks Mona, softly, breaking in upon his soliloquy. "Mona! Do you want me to stay?" asks he, suddenly, taking her hands in his. "Tell me the truth.".
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