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At this point the house comes in view, and conversation languishes. The women give a small touch to their furs and laces, the men indulge in a final yawn that is to last them until the gates of Anadale close behind them again.,"What is her name?","No; not a petty squire," says Mona; "and I think you do know him. And why should I be ashamed to tell my name to any one?",Though 'twere to buy a world of happy days.',They are all standing in a sort of anteroom, curtained off, but only partly concealed from the ballroom. Young Lady Chetwoode, who, as I have said, is a special pet with the duchess, is present, with Sir Guy and one or two others.,"Were they brown?",In remembrance of a shroud.","But why should night produce melancholy?" says Nicholas, dreamily. "It is but a reflection of the greater light, after all. What does Richter call it? 'The great shadow and profile of day.' It is our own morbid fancies that make us dread it.","Do you sing?" asks he, through mere force of habit, as she pauses.,"Well, I do like a good story," says Violet, carelessly.,"Were they brown?",The very air is still. There is no sound, no motion, save the coming and going of their own breath as it rises quickly from their hearts, filled full of passionate admiration for the loveliness before them..