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Violet looks at her criticizingly, then she smiles, and, placing her hand beneath Mrs. Geoffrey's chin, turns her face more to the fading light. "Now you speak sensibly. The sooner you begin to hate me the better." "I think so, Mona. There is one thing I shall never get.".
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"Impossible," says Mona. "Yes," she says, with cheeks colored to a rich carmine, and flashing eyes, and lips that quiver in spite of all her efforts at control, "that is the bit of heather you gave me, and that is the grass that tied it. I kept it because it reminded me of a day when I was happy. Now," bitterly, "I no longer care for it: for the future it can only bring back to me an hour when I was grieved and wounded." It is the 20th of February; already winter is dying out of mind, and little flowers are springing everywhere. "I don't know, I'm sure; but really the way you expressed yourself, and——Yes, of course, Spice will be company, the very best company for you.".
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