"'Our'? How you associate yourself with these Rodneys!" he says, scornfully; "yet you are as unlike them as a dove is unlike a hawk. How came you to fall into their nest? And so if I could only consent to efface myself you would like me better,—tolerate me in fact? A poor return for annihilation. And yet," impatiently, "I don't know. If I could be sure that even my memory would be respected by you——." He pauses and pushes back his hair from his brow.,
"Will that take her long?" asks Mona, somewhat wistfully, feeling, without understanding, some want in his voice.,
"This day week, then," he says, having heard, and taken to heart the wisdom of, the old maxim about striking while the iron is hot..
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