"I hope you have had a nice walk?" says Violet, politely, drawing her skirts aside to make room for Mona, who had just come in.  
It is quite half-past six; and though there is no light in the room, save the glorious flames given by the pine logs that lie on the top of the coals, still one can see that the occupants of the apartment are dressed for dinner.
 
Miss Darling—Sir Nicholas's fiancee—and her brother are expected to night; and so the household generally has dressed itself earlier than usual to be in full readiness to receive them.
 
Lady Rodney and Violet are sitting over the fire, and now Mona joins them, gowned in the blue satin dress in which she had come to meet Geoffrey, not so many months ago, in the old wood behind the farm.
 
"Very nice," she says, in answer to Violet's question, sinking into the chair that Miss Mansergh, by a small gesture, half languid, half , has pushed towards her, and which is close to Violet's own. "I went up the avenue, and then out on the road for about half a mile."
 
"It is a very late hour for any one to be on the public road," says Lady Rodney, unpleasantly, quite forgetting that people, as a rule, do not go abroad in pale-blue satin gowns, and that therefore some time must have elapsed between Mona's return from her walk and the donning of her present . And so she overreaches herself, as clever people will do, at times.
 
"It was two hours ago," says Mona, gently. "And then it was quite daylight, or at least"—truthfully—"only the beginning of dusk."
 
"I think the days are lengthening," says Violet, quietly, defending Mona unconsciously, and almost without knowing why. Yet in her heart—against her will as it were—she is making room for this Irish girl, who, with her great appealing eyes and tender ways, is not to be resisted.
 
"I had a small adventure," says Mona, presently, with suppressed gayety. All her gayety of late has been suppressed. "Just as I came back to the gate here, some one came riding by, and I turned to see who it was, at which his horse—as though frightened by my sudden movement—shied viciously, and then reared so near me as almost to strike me with his fore-paws. I was frightened rather, because it was all so sudden, and sprang to one side. Then the gentleman got down, and, coming to me, begged my pardon. I said it didn't matter, because I was really uninjured, and it was all my fault. But he seemed very sorry, and (it was dusk as I told you, and I believe he is short sighted) stared at me a great deal."
 
"Well?" says Violet, who is smiling, and seems to see a joke where Mona fails to see anything amusing.
 
"When he was tired of staring, he said, 'I suppose I am speaking to——' and then he stopped. 'Mrs. Rodney,' replied I; and then he raised his hat, and bowed, and gave me his card. After that he mounted again, and rode away."
 
"But who was this gentleman?" says Lady Rodney, . "No doubt some draper from the town."
 
"No; he was not a draper," says Mona, gently, and without haste.
 
"Whoever he was, he hardly excelled in breeding," says Lady Rodney; "to ask your name without an introduction! I never heard of such a thing. Very execrable form, indeed. In your place I should not have given it. And to manage his horse so badly that he nearly ran you down. He could hardly be any one we know. Some petty , no doubt."
 
"No; not a petty squire," says Mona; "and I think you do know him. And why should I be ashamed to tell my name to any one?"
 
"The question was in bad taste," says Lady Rodney again. "No well-bred man would ask it. I can hardly believe I know him. He must have been some impossible person."
 
"He was the Duke of Lauderdale," says Mona, simply. "Here is his card."
 
A pause.
 
Lady Rodney is plainly disconcerted, but says nothing. Violet follows suit, but more because she is amused and on the point of laughter, than from a desire to make matters worse.
 
"I hope you had your hat on," says Lady Rodney, presently, in a severe tone, meant to cover the defeat. She had once seen Mona with the silk handkerchief on her head,—Irish fashion,—and had expressed her of all such uncivilized headdresses.
 
"Yes; I wore my big Rubens hat, the one with——"
 
"I don't care to hear about the contents of your wardrobe," interrupts Lady Rodney, with a slight but unkind . "I am glad, at least, you were not seen in that objectionable headdress you so often affect."
 
"Was it the Rubens hat with the long brown feather?" asks Violet, sweetly, turning to Mona, as though compelled by some unknown force to say anything that shall restore the girl to evenness of mind once more.
 
"Yes; the one with the brown feather," returns Mona, quickly, and with a smile radiant and grateful, that sinks into Violet's heart and rests there.
 
"You told the duke who you were?" breaks in Lady Rodney at this moment, who is in one of her worst moods.
 
"Yes; I said I was Mrs. Rodney."
 
"Mrs. Geoffrey Rodney, would have been more correct. You forget your husband is the youngest son. When Captain Rodney marries, his wife will be Mrs. Rodney."
 
"But surely until then Mona may lay claim to the title," says Violet, quickly.
 
"I do not wish to lay claim to anything," says Mona, throwing up her head with a little proud gesture,—"least of all to what does not by right belong to me. To be Mrs. Geoffrey is all I ask."
 
She leans back in her chair, and brings her fingers together, clasping them so closely that her very nails grow white. Her thin a little, and her breath comes quickly, but no angry word escapes her. How can her lips give to a speech that may wound the mother of the man she loves!
 
Violet, watching her, notes the in her mind, and, seeing how her will gains mastery over her desire, honors her for her self-control.
 
Then comes in, and Sir Nicholas, and later on Geoffrey.
 
"No one can say we are not in time," says Jack, gayly. "It is exactly"—examining closely the ormolu-clock upon the mantelpiece—"one hour before we can reasonably expect dinner."
 
"And three-quarters. Don't deceive yourself, my dear fellow: they can't be here one moment before a quarter to eight."
 
"Then, in the meantime, Violet, I shall eat you," says Captain Rodney, , "just to take the edge off my appetite. You would be hardly sufficient for a good meal!" He laughs and glances significantly at her slight but charming figure, which is petite but perfect, and then sinks into a low chair near her.
 
"I hear this dance at the Chetwoodes' is to be rather a large affair," says Geoffrey, indifferently. "I met to-day, and he says the duchess is going, and half the county."
 
"Does he mean going himself?" says Nicholas, idly. "He is here to-day, I know, but one never knows where he may be to-morrow, he is so ."
 
"He is a little difficult; but, on the whole, I think I like Sir Mark better than most men," says Violet, slowly.
 
Whereupon Jack Rodney instantly conceives a sudden and uncalled for dislike towards the man in question.
 
"Lilian is such a dear girl," says Lady Rodney; "she is a very general favorite. I have no doubt her dance will be a great success."
 
"You are speaking of Lady Chetwoode? Was it her that called last week?" asks Mona, timidly, forgetting grammar in her nervousness.
 
"Yes; it was her that called last week," returns her mother-in-law, laying an unmistakable stress upon the pronoun.
 
No one is listening, fortunately, to this correction, or hot words might have been the result. Sir Nicholas and Geoffrey are laughing over some old story that has been brought to their recollection by this idle about the Chetwoodes' ball; Jack and Violet are deep in some topic of their own.
 
"Well, she danced like a fairy, at all events, in spite of her size," says Sir Nicholas, to the person the funny story had been about.
 
"You dance, of course," says Lady Rodney, turning to Mona, a little ashamed, perhaps, of her late rudeness.
 
"Oh, yes," says Mona, brightening even under this small touch of . "I'm very fond of it, too. I can get through all the steps without a mistake."
 
At this extraordinary speech, Lady Rodney stares in bewilderment.
 
"Ah! Walzes and polkas, you mean?" she says, in a puzzled tone.
 
"Eh?" says Mrs. Geoffrey.
 
"You can waltz?"
 
"Oh, no!" shaking her lovely head emphatically, with a smile. "It's country dances I mean. Up the middle and down again, and all that," moving her hand in a soft undulating way as though keeping it in accord with some music that is ringing in her brain. Then, sweetly, "Did you ever dance a country dance?"
 
"Never!" says Lady Rodney, in a fashion. "I don't even know what you mean."
 
"No?" arching her brows, and looking really sorry for her. "What a pity! They all come quite naturally to me. I don't remember ever being taught them. The music seemed to inspire me, and I really dance them very well. Don't I Geoff?"
 
"I never saw your equal," says Geoffrey, who, with Sir Nicholas, has been listening to the last half of the conversation, and who is plainly suppressing a strong desire to laugh.
 
"Do you remember the evening you taught me the country dance that I said was like an old-fashioned minuet? And what an apt pupil I proved! I really think I coul............