"On no account quarrel with Lady Rodney. Bear for the next few weeks (they will quickly pass) anything she may say, rather than create a breach between mother and son. You hear me, Mona?",
"An' a nate color too," says this woman, who is bare-footed, beneath her breath, regarding with admiration the yellow tint of the object on which she is engaged. Two pullets, feathered like a partridge, are creeping stealthily into the dairy, their heads turned knowingly on one side, their steps slow and cautious; not even the faintest chirrup escapes them, lest it be the cause of their instant dismissal. There is no sound anywhere but the soft music that falls from Mona's lips.,
"Well, then, I will not," returns she, with a last effort at determination, and the most miserable face in the world..
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