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"Well, I hope he has married a good girl, at all events," says Sir Nicholas, presently, with a sigh. But at this reasonable hope Lady Rodney once more gives way to bitter sobs. "Oh—well—those thirty-five charming compatriots of Mona's who are now in the House of Commons, or, rather, out of it. It was a little tale that related to their expulsion the other night by the Speaker—and—er—other things." "You speak as if my victory was a foregone conclusion," says Rodney. "How can you tell? He may yet gain the day, and I may be the outcast.".
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Mr. Rodney, basely forsaking the donkey, returns to his mutton. "There must be a dressmaker in Dublin," he says, "and we could write to her. Don't you know one?" Presently he closes his fingers upon hers, and looking up, she sees his lips are moving, though no sound escapes them. Leaning over him, she bends her face to his and whispers softly,— "It is very probable,—if there ever was such a will. How should I know? I have not cross-examined Warden on this or any other subject. He is an overseer over my estate, a mere servant, nothing more." Violet, rising, flings from her the work she has been amusing herself with, and, with a gesture of impatience very foreign to her usual reserve goes up to Mona, and, slipping her arm round her, takes her quietly out of the room..
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