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"I want you to leave Ireland—not next month, or next week, but at once. To-morrow, if possible." At this Mona laughs unrestrainedly; and Lady Rodney, rising hurriedly, says,— "Call off the dogs," says Geoffrey to Mona, in a low tone; "there is no longer any necessity for them. And tell me how you come to be here, at this hour, with this—fellow.".
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Conrad
"Do you really?" asks Mona, earnestly. "If you would only hear me——" "Very," returns he, surprised. He has not thought of her as one versed in lore of any kind. "What poets do you prefer?" "You are an artiste," says Geoffrey, with a deep sigh when she has finished. "Who taught you, child? But there is no use in such a question. Nobody could teach it to you: you must feel it as you sing. And yet you are scarcely to be envied. Your singing has betrayed to me one thing: if ever you suffer any great trouble it will kill you.".
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