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"From every blush that kindles in her cheeks, "Are you a man, to make me such a speech?" she says, passionately, fixing her eyes upon him with withering contempt. "Well, just one moment," says Geoffrey, detaining her, "let us finish what we were saying. Would you rather go to the East or to Rome?".
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Still, Mona is happy: the walk has done her good, and warmed her blood, and brought a color soft and rich as carmine, to her cheeks. She has followed the winding path for about an hour, briskly, and with a sense of bien-etre that only the young and godly can know, when suddenly she becomes aware that some one was following her. Perhaps another reason for Mona's having found such favor in the eyes of "the biggest woman in our shire, sir," lies in the fact that she is in many ways so totally unlike all the other young women with whom the duchess is in the habit of associating. She is naive to an extraordinary degree, and says and does things that might appear outre in others, but are so much a part of Mona that it neither startles nor offends one when she gives way to them. The man who manages the farm generally—and is a plague and a blessing at the same time to his master—appears round a corner, and declares, respectfully, that he will be ready in a "jiffy" to accompany Miss Mona, if she will just give him time to "clane himself up a bit." "This spot always brings to my mind the thoughts of other people," says Mona, softly. "I am very fond of poetry: are you?".
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