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"I don't know, sir. I never was abroad before, an' I'm dead bate now, an' the bag's like lead.",They are the Carsons, mustered in force, and, if anything, a trifle more noisy and oppressive than usual.,"Yes, but we are all so different from the English. We have no pretty fair hair in Ireland, or at least very little of it.","Do not!" says Mona, again, as though fresh words are impossible to her, drawing her breath quickly. Her evident agitation incenses him to the last degree. Opening the drawer impulsively, he gazes at its contents.,"A lone owl's hoot,,At this moment, Geoffrey—who has been absent—saunters into the room, and, after a careless glance around, says, lightly, as if missing something,—,"Could you not imagine you had one?" she says, presently as a last resource.,She stands well back from Geoffrey, and then, without any of the foolish, unlovely bashfulness that degenerates so often into awkwardness in the young, begins her dance.,"Is there no hope?" asks Geoffrey, gravely.,Then she rises upon her elbow, and notices how the light comes through the chinks of the shutters. It must be day indeed. The dreary night has fled affrighted; the stars hide their diminished rays. Surely,Mona is the first to recover herself.,"That was very nasty of me," confesses Mona. "Yet," with a sigh, "perhaps I was right.".