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"We are none of us infallible," says Rodney, in a curious tone, and speaking as if with difficulty. "You see, even you erred. Though I am neither burglar nor blackguard, I, too enjoy a walk at midnight.","It is true," says Violet, evenly. "Yet, dear Mona, I wish you could try to be a little more like the rest of the world.",Geoffrey and Mona go up the road with the serenader behind them, and, turning aside, she guiding, mount a stile, and, striking across a field, make straight for the high hill that conceals the ocean from the farm. Over many fields they travel, until at length they reach the mountain's summit and gaze down upon the beauteous scene below.,"It is Mr. Moore's retriever!" cries Mona, hurriedly, in a startled tone. "I must run. Down, Fan! down! Oh, if he catches me here, in this dress, what will he think? Quick, Geoffrey, give me my shawl!",Mona, though still angered, is yet somewhat softened by this speech, as might any woman. Her color fades again, and heavy tears, rising rapidly, quench the fire that only a moment since made her large eyes dark and passionate.,"I will—when I find it," returns she, with an irrepressible glance, full of native but innocent coquetry, from her beautiful eyes.,"I remember it; and I remember, too, who watched all that: do you?" he asks, his eyes fixed upon hers.,"Yes; I can understand you," said Mona, softly, "for I too was miserable.","She is all your fancy could possibly paint her; she is lovely and divine. Don't try to analyze her charms, my dear Geoff. She is just the prettiest and sweetest woman I ever met. She is young, in the 'very May morn of delight,' yet there is nothing of that horrid shyness—that mauvaise honte—about her that, as a rule, belongs to the 'freshness of morning.' Her laugh is so sweet, so full of enjoyment.","What!" says Mona And then she grows quite pale, and, slipping off the stile, stands a few yards away from him.,"Oh, no, not now," pleads Violet, hastily. She rises hurriedly from her seat, and lays her disengaged hand on his lips. For once in her life she loses sight of her self-possession, and a blush, warm and rich as carmine, mantles on her cheek.,"I wasn't," says Mona: "I went out a great deal. All day long I was in the open air. That is what made my hands so brown last autumn.".