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"Jolly old bore!" says Captain Rodney, though not unkindly.,"I hardly think the duchess is the sort of woman to say yes when she meant no," says Nicholas, with a half smile. "She went because it so pleased her, and for no other reason. I begin to think, indeed, that Lilian Chetwoode is rather out of it, and that Mona is the first favorite at present. She has evidently taken the duchess by storm.","That is true, for a time, with some. Forever with others.",Mona, in spite of her haste, stoops to pluck a bunch of violets and place them in her breast, as she goes upon her way. Up to this the beauty of the early spring day has drawn her out of herself, and compelled her to forget her errand. But as she comes near to the place appointed for the interview, a strange repugnance to go forward and face Paul Rodney makes her steps slower and her eyes heavy. And even as she comprehends how strongly she shrinks from the meeting with him, she looks up and sees the chestnut-tree in front of her, and the stream rushing merrily to the ocean, and Paul Rodney standing in his favorite attitude with his arms folded and his sombre eyes fixed eagerly upon her.,Stooping, he presses his lips to her hand for the first time. The caress is long and fervent.,From the hills the scent of the heather is wafted towards him, filling him with a subtle keen sense of youth and gladness and the absolute joy of living. His good dog is at his heels; a boy—procured from some neighboring cabin, and warranted not to wear out, however long the journey to be undertaken or how many miles to travel—carries his bag beside him.,"Have you ever read Shelley?" asks he, presently, puzzled by the extreme serenity of her manner.,"No, it couldn't be helped," says little Doatie. But their intervention only appears to add fuel to the fire of Lady Rodney's wrath.,"What is amusing you?" asks he, a trifle stiffly.—To give way to recitation, and then find your listener in agonies of suppressed mirth, isn't exactly a situation one would hanker after.,So in silence, but hand in hand, they move back through the dewy meads, meeting no one until they reach the little wooden gate that leads to her home.,"No, I am not afraid," says the girl, resisting his effort to put himself before her; and when he would have spoken she puts up her hands, and warns him to keep silence.,"You needn't tell me that. I'm positive they couldn't be named in the same day," says Geoffrey, enthusiastically, who never in his life saw Lady Crighton, or her neck or arms..