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"Yes, of course," she says, dejectedly. A cloud seems to have fallen upon her happy hour. "When did you hear that—that last singer?" she asks, in a subdued voice.,And then she sings again, some old-world song of love and chivalry that awakes within one a quick longing for a worthier life. Her sweet voice rings through the room, now glad with triumph, now sad with a "lovely melancholy," as the words and music sway her. Her voice is clear and pure and full of pathos! She seems to follow no rule; an "f" here or a "p" there, on the page before her, she heeds not, but sings only as her heart dictates.,Everybody laughs. In fact, Nolly roars.,"Don't be long," he says, impulsively, as she disappears down a passage.,"No, no, indeed. You have behaved admirably where most women would have ignominiously failed. Let that thought console you. To have a perfect temper, such as yours, should be in itself a source of satisfaction. And now bathe your eyes, and make yourself look even prettier than usual. A difficult matter, isn't it?" with a friendly smile.,"How pretty that is! Yet I should like you to see me, if only for once, as you have seen others," says Mona.,"But, Geoffrey, why should I be cold to your mother? Sure you wouldn't have me be uncivil to her, of all people?","We have all to do that at times," says Sir Nicholas. "And there is another person, mother, I shall be glad if you will send a card to.",Following her, he takes both her hands, and, holding them closely, draws her back to her former position beside him.,And hath in it the more of heavenly light.,Then, as breakfast was virtually over before the letters came, they all rise, and disperse themselves as fancy dictates. But Geoffrey goes alone to where he knows he shall find Nicholas in his own den.,"So every spirit, as it is most pure.