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"Oh, Nolly!" says Dorothy, hastily.,"There, do go away!" says this woodland goddess. "I am sick of you and your stupidity.","If they could only hear us now!" murmurs Geoffrey, addressing no one in particular.,"Oh, no, don't," says Mona, earnestly. Then she stops short, and blushes a faint sweet crimson.,"Oh, now, Mrs. Geoffrey, come—I say—how cruel yon can be!",She understands, indeed, that Sir Launcelot was a very naughty young man, who should not have been received in respectable houses,—especially as he had no money to speak of,—and that Sir Modred and Sir Gawain, had they lived in this critical age, would undoubtedly have been pronounced bad form and expelled from decent clubs. And, knowing this much, she takes it for granted that the stealing of a will or more would be quite in their line: hence her speech.,"Now I think you are making fun of me," says Mona, smiling sweetly; and, lifting her hand, she pinches his ear lightly, and very softly, lest she should hurt him.,But Mickey is not to be outdone. "An' there's the pigs, miss," he begins again, presently.,"So they all tell me. And of course what every one says is true. We're bound to be friends, aren't we?" rattles on Darling pleasantly. "Our mutual love for Erin should be a bond between us.",She says it all quite simply, with a smile, and a quick blush that arises merely from the effort of having to explain, not from the explanation itself. There is not a touch of malice in her soft eyes or on her parted lips.,Quite near to the poor corpse, a woman sits, young, apparently, and with a handsome figure, though now it is bent and bowed with grief. She is dressed in the ordinary garb of the Irish peasant, with a short gown well tucked up, naked feet, and the sleeves of her dress pushed upwards until they almost reach the shoulder, showing the shapely arm and the small hand that, as a rule, belong to the daughters of Erin and betray the existence of the Spanish blood that in days gone by mingled with theirs.,"I promise you faithfully," says Mona..