Mona pours out the tea—which is excellent—and puts in the cream—which is a thing to dream of—with a liberal hand. She smiles at Geoffrey across the sugar-bowl, and chatters to him over the big bowl of flowers that lies in the centre of the table. Not a hothouse bouquet faultlessly arranged, by any means, but a great, tender, happy, straggling bunch of flowers that seem to have fallen into their places of their own accord, regardless of coloring, and fill the room with their perfume.,
"On no account quarrel with Lady Rodney. Bear for the next few weeks (they will quickly pass) anything she may say, rather than create a breach between mother and son. You hear me, Mona?",
"I wish I could have seen it better," returns Violet, "but, you see, I was playing.".
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