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"Well, it wasn't my fault, was it? I had nothing to do with it. She hadn't her head on my shoulder, had she? and it wasn't my arm was round her," says Mr. Darling losing patience a little. "Yes, long ago," says Geoffrey, with animation. "Quite an hour ago." "I do hope she isn't the under-housemaid," said Jack, moodily. "It has grown so awfully common. Three fellows this year married under-housemaids, and people are tired of it now; one can't keep up the excitement always. Anything new might create a diversion in his favor, but he's done for if he has married another under-housemaid.".
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His tone, his emphasis on the pronoun, is significant. It is an hour later. Afternoon draws towards evening, yet one scarcely feels the change. It is sultry, drowsy, warm, and full of a "slow luxurious calm." "Your wife, Geoffrey?" she says, holding Mona's hand all the time, and gazing at her intently. Then, as though something in Mrs. Geoffrey's beautiful face attracts her strangely, she lifts her face and presses her soft lips to Mona's cheek. "Now, that is good of you," she says, gratefully, and then, as he stoops to kiss her, she throws her arms around his neck and bursts into tears..
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