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There is a pause. In shrinking doubt she awaits the moment that shall make him take advantage of her words. But that moment never comes. In vain she waits. At length she lifts her eyes, and he, flinging the parchment at her feet, cries, roughly,—,The urn is hissing angrily, and breathing forth defiance with all his might. It is evidently possessed with the belief that the teapot has done it some mortal injury, and is waging on it war to the knife.,Following her, he takes both her hands, and, holding them closely, draws her back to her former position beside him.,"And this is what I would say: in one year from this I will marry you, if"—with a faint tremble in her tone—"you then still care to marry me. But not before.",His face is slightly flushed, his whole manner full of importance. He advances to where the two girls are sitting, and stops opposite Mona.,She winds her arms, around him, seeing he is still determined to go, and, throwing back her head, looks into his face.,"Eh?" says Lady Rodney.,Lady Rodney is plainly disconcerted, but says nothing. Violet follows suit, but more because she is thoroughly amused and on the point of laughter, than from a desire to make matters worse.,As for the Australian, he has grown pale indeed, but is quite self-possessed, and the usual insolent line round his mouth has deepened. The dogs have by no means relaxed their vigil, but still crouch before him, ready for their deadly spring at any moment. It is a picture, almost a lifeless one, so motionless are all those that help to form it. The fading fire, the brilliant lamp, the open window with the sullen night beyond, Paul Rodney standing upon the hearthrug with folded arms, his dark insolent face lighted up with the excitement of what is yet to come, gazing defiantly at his cousin, who is staring back at him, pale but determined. And then Mona, in her soft white gown, somewhat in the foreground, with one arm (from which the loose sleeve of the dressing-gown has fallen back, leaving the fair rounded flesh to be seen) thrown around her husband's neck, is watching Rodney with an expression on her face that is half haughtiness, half nervous dread. Her hair has loosened, and is rippling over her shoulders, and down far below her waist; with her disengaged hand she is holding it back from her ear, hardly knowing how picturesque and striking is her attitude, and how it betrays each perfect curve of her lovely figure.,So peace is restored, and presently, forsaking the pats of butter and the dairy, they wander forth into the open air, to catch the last mild breezes that belong to the dying day.,"Lie down: you will hurt yourself again," she says, trying gently to induce him to return to his former recumbent position; but he resists her.,"Well, I shall go and judge of Killarney myself some day," he says, idly..