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She nods her head gayly as she says this, being pleased at her apt quotation from the one book she has studied very closely. "But why not to-night?" asks her Grace, who has noticed with curiosity the girl's refusal to dance with a lanky young man in a hussar uniform, who had evidently made it the business of the evening to get introduced to her. Indeed, for an hour he had been feasting his eyes upon her fresh young beauty, and, having gone to infinite trouble to get presented to her, had been rewarded for his trouble by a little friendly smile, a shake of the head, and a distinct but kindly refusal to join in the mazy dance. "We should be all good subjects enough, if things were on a friendlier footing," says Mona, too absorbed in her own grievance to notice Mr. Rodney's suppressed but evident enjoyment of her conversation. "But when you despise us, you lead us to hate you.".

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"To Bantry," says Mona, growing white again,—"to-night! Oh, do you want to kill me and yourself?" Her blood heated by her swift run grows cold again as this thought comes to her,—forced to the front by the fact that "all the air a solemn stillness holds," and that no sound makes itself heard save the faint sighing of the night-wind in the woods up yonder, and the "lone and melancholy voice" of the sea, a mile away, as it breaks upon the silent shore. Another pause. Mona is on thorns. Will the branching path, that may give her a chance of escaping a further tete-a-tete with him, never be reached? "Not until two?" says Mona, growing miserable again..