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Mona, rising, pushes Violet gently into her own chair, a little black-and-gold wicker thing, gaudily cushioned. "No; he was not a draper," says Mona, gently, and without haste. As Mona advances to his side, through the gathering gloom of fast approaching night, pale almost as he is, and trembling in every limb, this miserable anxiety dies out of his face, leaving behind it a rest and peace unutterable..

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"Now I am quite, quite happy," says Mona, and, rising from her knees, she goes back again to Geoffrey, and stands beside him. "Tell them all about last night," she says, looking up at him, "and the secret cupboard." Where would they all be now but for her timely entry into the library on that night never to be forgotten, and her influence over the poor dead and gone cousin? Even in the matter of fortune she has not been behindhand, Paul Rodney's death having enriched her beyond all expectation. Without doubt, therefore, there is good reason to rejoice over Mrs. Geoffrey. She has turned away from him, grieved and frightened by his vehemence, and, having plucked a leaf from the hedge near her, is trifling absently with it as it lies upon her little trembling palm. "She doesn't understand," puts in Violet, quickly. "Mona, are you going to see everybody that may choose to call upon you, good, bad, and indifferent, from this till you die?".