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"He was a man who never took off his hat," begins Geoffrey.,"And you really mustn't think us such very big people," says Geoffrey, in a deprecating tone, "because we are any thing but that, and, in fact,"—with a sharp contraction of his brow that betokens inward grief,—"there is rather a cloud over us just now.","Do you sing?" asks he, through mere force of habit, as she pauses.,This tirade has hardly the effect upon Dorothy that might be desired. She still stands firm, utterly unshaken by the storm that has just swept over her (frail child though she is), and, except for a slight touch of indignation that is fast growing within her eyes, appears unmoved.,"This spot always brings to my mind the thoughts of other people," says Mona, softly. "I am very fond of poetry: are you?","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.,"Where are people when they are not at home?" asks Mona, simply.,"Ye—es; he will do," says Mona, after a second's careful thought, and even now reluctantly.,"'7—4,'" murmurs she, absently, still staring intently at the wall.,She glances at her watch. It is now a quarter past three; so there is no time to be lost. She must hasten.,The morning wanes, and luncheon declares itself. When it has come to an end, Mona going slowly up the stairs to her own room is met there by one of the maids,—not her own,—who hands her a sealed note.,No sun upon an Easter day.