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"It is really hardly worth talking about," she says, grandly. "I was foolish to lay so great a stress on such a trifling matter. It doesn't signify, not in the least. But—but," the blood mounting to her brow, "if ever you speak of it again,—if ever you even mention the word 'heather,'—I shall hate you!" Fortunately this dagger refuses to be shaken from its hold. Mona, feeling that fair play is at an end, and that treachery is asserting itself, turns instinctively to her faithful allies the bloodhounds, who have risen, and, with their hair standing straight on their backs, are growling ominously. That fret the clouds are messengers of day.".
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"Where does he write from?" asks Violet. "But you have something on your mind, too. You have me. Why doesn't Jack go?" "No. Nor brothers. Only myself. Geoffrey utters an exclamation, and Mona, after one swift comprehensive glance at the rifled cupboard, bursts into tears. The bitter disappointment is more than she can bear..
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