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She excuses her unwonted drowsiness with a little laugh, natural and friendly, and begs them "not to betray her." Clothed in all this sweetness she drops a word or two meant to crush Mona; but that hapless young woman hears her not, being bent on explaining to Mrs. Carson that, as a rule, the Irish peasantry do not go about dressed only in glass beads, like the gay and festive Zulus, and that petticoats and breeches are not utterly unknown.,"Don't be unkind to me," says Mona, with just a touch of innocent and bewitching coquetry. She is telling herself she likes this absurd young man better than any one she has met since she came to England, except perhaps Sir Nicholas.,The father took his pipe and filled it, and smoked and prayed to all the powers, saying, "Hear now, Sun; listen, Above People; listen, Underwater People; now you have taken pity; now you have given us food. We are going to those mysterious ones who walk through water with dry moccasins. Protect us among these to-be-feared people. Let us live. Man, woman, and child, give us long life.","If ever you should be sorry afterwards," she says, miserably, still tormenting herself with unseen evils,—"if ever I should see discontent in your eyes, how would it be with me then?",It is a very curious and obsolete, if singularly charming, performance, full of strange bows, and unexpected turnings, and curtseys dignified and deep.,"I am far from it, I regret to say; but time cures all things, and I trust to that and careful observation to reform me.",And now the horses draw up before a brilliantly-lighted hall, the doors of which are thrown wide as though in hospitable expectation of their coming.,"It was for you," she says, hanging her head. "I thought if I could do something to make you happier, you might learn to love me a little!",Then there is another pause, rather longer than the last, Lady Rodney trifles with the fan in a somewhat excited fashion, and Geoffrey gazes, man-like, at his boots. At last his mother breaks the silence.,"Yes, but we are all so different from the English. We have no pretty fair hair in Ireland, or at least very little of it.","O'er the dark her silver mantle throws;",Mona never afterwards could say which man was the first to make the attack, but in a second they are locked in each other's arms in a deadly embrace. A desire to cry aloud, to summon help, takes hold of her, but she beats it down, some inward feeling, clear, yet undefined, telling her that publicity on such a matter as this will be eminently undesirable..