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Slowly she turns her head away from him, and, as though following out a train of thought, fixes her eyes upon the panelled wall in front of her. "I should think very few people would deem it a trouble to serve you," she says, graciously. "And perhaps, after all, you don't much care about dancing." "Yes; I said I was Mrs. Rodney.".
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"Out? Oh, ever so much," says Mrs. Geoffrey. "You misunderstand me," says Mona, with tears in her eyes. "Thomas has plainly taken to hieroglyphics,—if it be Thomas," he says. "I can fancy his pressing his young woman's right hand, but her 'top corner' baffles me. If I were Thomas, I shouldn't hanker after a girl with a 'top corner;' but there is no accounting for tastes. It really is curious, though, isn't it?" As he speaks he looks at Mona; but Mona, though seemingly returning his gaze, is for the first time in her life absolutely unmindful of his presence. Presently her cry is answered. A thick cloud of pigeons—brown and white and bronze and gray—come wheeling into sight from behind the old house, and tumble down upon her in a reckless fashion. They perch upon her head, her shoulders, her white soft arms, even her hands, and one, more adventurous than the rest, has even tried to find a slippery resting-place upon her bosom..
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