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"One of Thomas's billet-doux, no doubt," says Geoffrey, dreamily, alluding to the under-footman, but thinking of something else.,Then follows an uncomfortable silence.,At this Mona turns her gaze secretly upon him. She studies his hair, his gray eyes, his irregular nose,—that ought to have known better,—and his handsome mouth, so resolute, yet so tender, that his fair moustache only half conceals. The world in general acknowledges Mr. Rodney to be a well-looking young man of ordinary merits, but in Mona's eyes he is something more than all this; and I believe the word "ordinary," as applied to him, would sound offensive in her ears.,Now will he seize this blessed opportunity, and, laden with the spoils of war, approach her dwelling (already she is "she"), and triumphantly, albeit humbly, lay the fern at her feet, and so perchance gain the right to bask for a few minutes in the sunshine of her presence.,Another pause. Mona is on thorns. Will the branching path, that may give her a chance of escaping a further tete-a-tete with him, never be reached?,"I think your Aunt Anastasia was very good to them," says the duchess.,Each bank and root of mossy tree is studded with pale primroses that gleam like stars when the morning rises to dim their lustre. My lady's straw-bed spreads its white carpet here and there; the faint twitter of birds is in the air, with "liquid lapse of murmuring streams;" every leaf seems bursting into life, the air is keen but soft, the clouds rest lightly on a ground of spotless blue; the world is awake, and mad with youthful glee as,"But surely there must be moments when——",Mona grows livid, and takes a step forward.,"I hope not, indeed," says Mona giving him her hand with a very flattering haste.,"Out? Oh, ever so much," says Mrs. Geoffrey.,"Then I don't believe you!" breaks out Geoffrey, angrily. "I am positive you want to marry me; and just because of some wretched fad you have got into your head you are determined to make us both wretched.".