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"Blame no one," says Mona. "But if there is anything in your own heart to condemn you, then pause before you go further in this matter of the Towers." "But who? Doatie will not dance with him, and Violet he never asks. I fell back, then, upon the woman who has so little malice in her heart that she could not be ungracious to any one. Against her will she read my desire in my eyes, and has so far sacrificed herself for my sake. I had no right to compel your wife to this satisfying of my vanity, yet I could not resist it. Forget it; the dance will soon be over." The floor itself is pale, nay, almost blue. A little snow is sifted lightly on branch, and grass, and ivied wall. Each object in the sleeping world is quite distinct..

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"By Jove, you know, it is odd," says Geoffrey, presently, speaking as one might who has for long been following out a train of thought by no means unpleasant, "his sending for her, and that: there must be something in it. Rodney didn't write to her for nothing. It must have been to——" Here he checks himself abruptly, remembering his promise to Mona to say nothing about the scene in the library. "It certainly means something," he winds up, a little tamely. Mr. Rodney, basely forsaking the donkey, returns to his mutton. "There must be a dressmaker in Dublin," he says, "and we could write to her. Don't you know one?" "But you like Lady Rodney?" says Mona, in a puzzled tone. Sir Nicholas, just moving his glass from one eye to the other, says "Good evening" to him, bending his head courteously, nay, very civilly, though without a touch, or suspicion of friendliness. He does not put out his hand, however, and Paul Rodney, having acknowledged his salutation by a bow colder and infinitely more distant than his own, turns to Mona..