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"Poor thing!" says Mona, sympathetically, which sympathy, by the by, is utterly misplaced, as Lady Rodney thought her husband, if anything, an old bore, and three months after his death confessed to herself that she was very glad he was no more. "So," she says, mockingly, laughing at Nicholas, "you cannot play the seer any longer? Well, I shall tell you. I was with Paul Rodney!" "Have they taught you to hate me already?" he asks, in a low, compressed tone, that make her nerves assert themselves..
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One hand is beneath her cheek,—that is soft and moist as a child's might be in innocent slumber,—the other is thrown above her head. She is exquisite in her abandon, but very pale, and her breath comes unevenly. Mona starts, and regards him fixedly in a puzzled, uncertain manner. What he can possibly mean is unknown to her; but yet she is aware of some inward feeling, some instinct such as animals possess, that warns her to beware of him. She shrinks from him, and in doing so a slight fold of her dress catches in the handle of a writing-table, and detains her. That is so sweet, I think." As he makes this last extraordinary remark he looks over his left shoulder, as though fearful of being overheard..
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