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The birds, as though once more led by the balmy mildness of the day into the belief that summer has not yet forsaken them, are singing in the topmost branches of the trees, from which, with every passing breeze, the leaves fall lightly. "But what is it?" asks Miss Mansergh from behind Lady Rodney's chair, just a little impatiently. "Yes, and——".
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So after this earnest protest no more is ever said to her apon the subject, and Mrs. Geoffrey she is now to her mends, and Mrs. Geoffrey, I think, she will remain to the end of the chapter. This thought seems to overwhelm her. She raises her hands to her head, and an expression of keenest anguish creeps into her eyes. She sways a little, and would have fallen, but that Jack Rodney, who is nearest to her at this moment, catches her in his arms. "I hope she isn't in love with you," she says, slowly. "To England!" she repeats, with a most mournful attempt at unconcern, "Will—will that be soon?".
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