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Then she gathers up her gown and runs swiftly back to the farm. "Now, perhaps, you will explain why you are here?" says Mrs. Geoffrey, speaking as sternly as her soft voice will permit. "How did you get in?" "You should know better than to apply the word 'informer' to one of my blood," she says, coldly, speaking to Ryan, without a tremor in her voice..

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"Dear me," she says, throwing up her dainty head, and flinging, with a petulant gesture, the unoffending grass far from her, "what an escape I have had! How his mother would have hated me! Surely I should count it lucky that I discovered all about her in time. Because really it doesn't so very much matter; I dare say I shall manage to be quite perfectly happy here again, after a little bit, just as I have been all my life—before he came. And when he is gone"—she pauses, chokes back with stern determination a very heavy sigh, and then goes on hastily and with suspicious bitterness, "What a temper he has! Horrid! The way he flung away my hand, as if he detested me, and flounced down that hill, as if he hoped never to set eyes on me again! With no 'good-by,' or 'by your leave,' or 'with your leave,' or a word of farewell, or a backward glance, or anything! I do hope he has taken me at my word, and that he will go straight back, without seeing me again, to his own odious country." "Come, hurry," says Mona, turning to Geoffrey, with a light laugh that seems to spring from her very heart. "Would you have the 'tay' get cold while you are making up your mind? I at least must go." She smiles again. Lady Rodney, watching her intently, tells herself if this is acting it is the most perfectly done thing she ever saw in her life, either on the stage or off it. The place she has chosen as her mirror is a still pool fringed with drooping grasses and trailing ferns that make yet more dark the sanded floor of the stream..