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At this moment one of the pigeons—a small, pretty thing, bronze-tinged—flies to her, and, resting on her shoulder, makes a tender cooing sound, and picks at her cheek reproachfully, as though imploring more corn. It is the first time since their marriage that she and Geoffrey have been parted, and it seems to her a hard thing that such partings should be. A sense of desolation creeps over her,—a sense of loneliness she has never known before. "Oh, no," says Geoffrey, hastily, recovering himself just in time; "she's all right, you know, my mother; and you'll like her awfully when—when you know her, and when—when she knows you.".
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"It is quite an old story," goes on Nolly. "Oh, stay?" she says, faintly, detaining him both by word and gesture. He means highest praise. She accepts his words as a kind rebuke. He comes to her and looks over her shoulder at the paper she holds. In an ugly unformed hand the following figures and words are written upon it,—.
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