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"You never saw an angel, so you can't say," says Mona, still sadly severe. "And I am unhappy. How will your mother, Mrs. Rodney, like your marrying me, when you might marry so many other people,—that Miss Mansergh, for instance?" "What does he say about the moon?" asks Mona, still with her knees in her embrace, and without lifting her eyes from the quiet waters down below. "I wonder," she says to herself, softly, "whether he will be with me at the usual hour to-morrow, or,—a little earlier!".
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"Pretty? No. But she dresses very swagger, and always looks nice, and is generally correct all through," replies Mr. Rodney, easily. "Thank you," says Geoffrey, a little dryly, accepting her words as they are said, not as he feels they are meant. At last, as she grows weary for wishing for it,— "Poor soul! poor soul!" says Mona, brokenly; then she drops her hand, and the woman, turning again to the lifeless body, as though in the poor cold clay lies her only solace, lets her head fall forward upon it..
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