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"I'll tell you all something," he says, "though I hardly think I ought, if you will swear not to betray me." Now they can hear the sound of wheels; and presently a light tax-cart swings round the corner, drawn by a large, bony, bay mare, and in which sits a heavy-looking, elderly man, in a light overcoat. Nor motion, I might almost say,.

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When she is gone, Geoffrey walks impatiently up and down the small hall, conflicting emotions robbing him of the serenity that usually attends his footsteps. He is happy, yet full of a secret gnawing uneasiness that weighs upon him daily, hourly. Near Mona—when in her presence—a gladness that amounts almost to perfect happiness is his; apart from her is unrest. Love, although he is but just awakening to the fact, has laid his chubby hands upon him, and now holds him in thrall; so that no longer for him is that most desirable thing content,—which means indifference. Rather is he melancholy now and then, and inclined to look on life apart from Mona as a doubtful good. And in truth the "claning" occupies a very short period,—or else Mona and Geoffrey heed not the parting moments. For sometimes "I can give you the size of my waist and my shoulders, and my length," says Mona, thoughtfully, yet with a touch of inspiration. "Turn it where, darling?" asks she, a little dreamily..