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"You have not quite forgotten me, I hope, Mrs. Rodney. You will give me one dance?" "Where does he write from?" asks Violet. Mr. Moore is her landlord, and the owner of the lovely wood behind Mangle Farm where Geoffrey came to grief yesterday..

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"But perhaps she will refuse you," says Mona, demurely. "What has he done?" asks Geoffrey, somewhat bewildered and greatly distressed at her apparent grief. "What! now?" with some hesitation, yet plainly filled with an overwhelming desire to show herself to him without loss of time in the adorable gown. "If I should be seen! Well, never mind; I'll risk it. Go down to the little green glade in the wood, and I'll be with you before you can say Jack Robinson." "There wasn't much society to go into," says Mona, "and I was only fifteen when staying with Aunt Anastasia. She," confidentially, "made rather a grand match for us, you know." (Lady Rodney grinds her teeth, and tells herself she is on the point of fainting.) "She married the Provost of Trinity College; but I don't think he did her any good. She is the oddest old thing! Even to think of her now makes me laugh. You should have seen her," says Mrs. Geoffrey, leaning back in her chair, and giving way to her usual merry laugh, that rings like a peal of silver bells, "with her wig that had little curls all over it, and her big poke-bonnet like a coal-scuttle!".