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"How could I help laughing," says Mona. "Mr. Darling has just expressed surprise at the fact that the Irish peasantry do not as a rule possess watches." Then suddenly her whole face changes from gayety to extreme sorrow. "Alas! poor souls!" she says, mournfully, "they don't, as a rule, have even meat!" Her tone is only too significant. His face has grown black again. A heavy frown sits on his brow. "I'll ask him the very moment I see him," says Geoffrey, with empressement. "Nothing shall prevent me. And I'll telegraph his answer to you.".

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"A great deal. I should. I have heard of almost nothing else since my arrival in England," replies he, slowly. Since that time the deer has had no gall and the antelope no dew-claws. Of life, or living creature, 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..