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"Oh, dear, no," says Mona, with an emphatic shake of her lovely head. "She hadn't the least little bit of wit in her composition. She was as solemn as an Eng——I mean a Spaniard (they are all solemn, are they not?), and never made a joke in her life, but she was irresistibly comic all the same." Then suddenly, "What a very pretty little woman that is over there, and what a lovely dress!" "And why not this or any other drawer?" says Rodney, growing pale. Again jealousy, which is a demon, rises in his breast, and thrusts out all gentler feelings. Her allusion to Mr. Moore, most innocently spoken, and, later on, her reference to the students, have served to heighten within him angry suspicion. "Ah! then I did not know all," says Mona. "That was your fault. No; if I consent to do you this injury you shall at least have time to think it over.".
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"Forgive me: it was an ugly word," he says, "I take it back. I shall never forbid you to do anything, Mona, if my doing so must bring that look into your eyes. Yet surely there are moments in every woman's life when the man who loves her, and whom she loves, may claim from her obedience, when it is for her own good. However, let that pass. I now entreat you not to go again to Ryan's cabin." "It is here," says Mona, rather pleased at his remembering this promise of hers, and, going to a desk, proceeds to open a secret drawer, in which lies the picture in question. At home—in Sydney, I mean—the life was different. It was free, unfettered, and in a degree lawless. It suited me better." "But what is to be done?" asks Nicholas, distractedly, though inexpressibly cheered by these professions of loyalty and devotion. "Your people won't hear of it.".
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