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The duchess gives it up. "Yes, and a far better one, too," she says, amiably, declining to explain. Indeed, she is delighted to meet a young woman who actually regards slang as a foreign and unstudied language, and shrinks from being the first to help her to forget the English tongue. "Is there much beauty in Ireland?" she asks, presently.,"Oh, indeed!" says Mona; and then, with downcast eyes, "but I don't know, because you never told me before.","Fancy a turkey ghost," says Mona. "How ugly it would be. It would have all its feathers off, of course.",Then they move on once more, and go down the road that leads towards the farm.,"Open at this hour of the morning?","You may try just as hard as ever you like," she says, with dignity: "I sha'n't!","You are Sir Nicholas?" questions she at last, gaining courage to speak, and raising her eyes to his full of entreaty, and just a touch of that pathos that seems of right to belong to the eyes of all Irishwomen.,And then she sings again, some old-world song of love and chivalry that awakes within one a quick longing for a worthier life. Her sweet voice rings through the room, now glad with triumph, now sad with a "lovely melancholy," as the words and music sway her. Her voice is clear and pure and full of pathos! She seems to follow no rule; an "f" here or a "p" there, on the page before her, she heeds not, but sings only as her heart dictates.,"But he wants to marry you. I know he does. Tell me the truth about that," he says, with flattering vehemence.,I see a wild civility,,A rush of hope and gladness thrills Mona's bosom at this gentle touch. It is the very first caress she has ever received from one of Geoffrey's friends or relations.,"I can't," faintly..