"What a day we're avin'," says Mr. Darling, disdaining to notice this puerile remark. "It's been pouring since early dawn. I feel right down cheap,--very nearly as depressed as when last night Nicholas stuck me down to dance with the sthetic."

"Lady Lilias Eaton, you mean?" asks Lady Rodney. "That reminds me we are bound to go over there to-morrow. At least, some of us."

"Mona must go," says Nicholas, quickly. "Lady Lilias made a point of it.

You will go, Mona?"

"I should very much like to go," says Mona, gently, and with some eagerness. She has been sitting very quietly with her hands before her, hardly hearing what is pa.s.sing around her,--lost, buried in thought.

"Poor infant! It is her first essay," says Nolly, pitifully.

"Wait till to-morrow evening, and see if you will feel as you do now.

Your cheerful complaisance in this matter is much to be admired. And Nicholas should be grateful But I think you will find one dose of Lady Lilias and her ancient Briton sufficient for your lifetime."

"You used to be tremendous friends there at one time," says Geoffrey; "never out of the house."

"I used to stay there occasionally when old Lord Daintree was alive, if you mean that," says Nolly, meekly. "As far as I can recollect, I was always shipped there when naughty, or troublesome, or in the way at home; and as a rule I was always in the way. There is a connection between the Eatons and my mother, and Anadale saw a good deal of me off and on during the holidays. It was a sort of rod in pickle, or dark closet, that used to be held over my head when in disgrace."

"Lilias must have been quite a child then," says Lady Rodney.

"She was never a child: she was born quite grown up. But the ancient Britons had not come into favor at that time: so she was a degree more tolerable. Bless me," says Mr. Darling, with sudden animation, "what horrid times I put in there. The rooms were ghastly enough to freeze the blood in one's veins, and no candles would light 'em. The beds were all four-posters, with heavy curtains round them, so high that one had to get a small ladder to mount into bed. I remember one time--it was during harvest, and the mowers were about--I suggested to Lord Daintree he should get the men in to mow down the beds; but no one took any notice of my proposal, so it fell to the ground. I was frightened to death, and indeed was more in awe of the four-posters than of the old man, who wasn't perhaps half bad."

Dorothy from her corner laughs gayly. "Poor old Noll," she says: "it was his unhappy childhood that blighted his later years and made him the melancholy object he is."

"Well, you know, it was much too much,--it was really," says Mr.

Darling, very earnestly. "Mrs. Geoffrey, won't you come to my rescue?".

Mrs. Geoffrey, thus addressed, rouses herself, and says, "What can I do for you?" in a far-away tone that proves she has been in thought-land miles away from every one. Through her brain some words are surging. Her mind has gone back to that scene in the conservatory last night when she and Paul Rodney had been together. What was it he had said? What were the exact words he had used? She lays two fingers on her smooth white brow, and lets a little frown--born only of bewildered thought--contract its fairness.

"A scheme," he had said; and then in a moment the right words flash across her brain. "A brilliant chance, a splendid scheme." What words for an honest man to use! Could he be honest? Was there any flaw, any d.a.m.ning clause anywhere in all this careful plot, so cleverly constructed to bring ruin upon the heads of these people who have crept into her tender heart?

"Where are you now, Mona?" asks Geoffrey, suddenly, laying his hand with a loving pressure on her shoulder. "In Afghanistan or Timbuctoo? Far from us, at least." There is a little vague reproach and uneasiness in his tone.

"No; very near you,--nearer than you think," says Mona, quick to notice any variation in his tone, awaking from her reverie with a start, and laying one of her hands over his. "Geoffrey," earnestly, "what is the exact meaning of the word 'scheme'? Would an honest man (surely he would not) talk of scheming?" Which absurd question only shows how unlearned she yet is in the great lessons of life.

"Well, that is rather a difficult question to answer," says Geoffrey.

"Monsieur de Lesseps, when dreaming out the Suez Ca.n.a.l, called it a scheme; and he, I presume, is an honest man. Whereas, on the other side, if a burglar were arranging to steal all your old silver, I suppose he would call that a scheme too. What have you on the brain now, darling?

You are not going to defraud your neighbor, I hope."

"It is very strange," says Mona, with a dissatisfied sigh, "but I'll tell you all about it by and by."

Instinct warns her of treachery; common sense belies the warning. To which shall she give ear?

"Shall we ask the Carsons to our dance, Nicholas?" asks his mother, at this moment.

"Ask any one you like,--any one, I mean, that is not quite impossible,"

says Nicholas.

"Edith Carson is very nearly so, I think."

"Is that the girl who spoke to you, Geoffrey, at the tea room door?"

asks Mona, with some animation.

"Yes. Girl with light, frizzy hair and green eye."

"A strange girl, I thought, but very pretty. Yes--was it English she talked?"

"Of the purest," says Geoffrey.

"What did she say, Mona?" inquired Doatie.

"I am not sure that I can tell you,--at least not exactly as she said it," says Mona, with hesitation. "I didn't quite understand her; but Geoffrey asked her how she was enjoying herself, and she said it was 'fun all through;' and that she was amusing herself just then by hiding from her partner, Captain Duns...o...b.., who was hunting for her 'all over the shop,'--it was 'shop,' she said, wasn't it, Geoff? And that it did her good to see him in a tearing rage, in fact on a regular 'champ,'

because it vexed Tricksy Newcombe, whose own particular he was in the way of 'pals.'"

Everybody laughs. In fact, Nolly roars.

"Did she stop there?" he says: "that was unworthy of her. Breath for once must have failed her, as nothing so trivial as want of words could have influenced Miss Carson."

"You should have seen Mona," says Geoffrey. "She opened her eyes and her lips, and gazed fixedly upon the lively Edith. Curiosity largely mingled with awe depicted itself upon her expressive countenance. She was wondering whether she should have to conquer that extraordinary jargon before being p.r.o.nounced fit for polite society."

"No, indeed," says Mona, laughing. "But it surely wasn't English, was it? That is not the way everybody talks, surely."

"Everybody," says Geoffrey; "that is, all specially nice people. You won't be in the swim at all, unless you take to that sort of thing."

"Then you are not a nice person yourself."

"I am far from it, I regret to say; but time cures all things, and I trust to that and careful observation to reform me."

"And I am to say 'pals' for friends, and call it pure English?"

"It is not more extraordinary, surely, than calling a drunken young man 'tight,'" says Lady Rodney, with calm but cruel meaning.

Mona blushes painfully.

"Well, no; but that is pure Irish," says Geoffrey, unmoved. Mona, with lowered head, turns her wedding-ring round and round upon her finger, and repents bitterly that little slip of hers when talking with the d.u.c.h.ess last night.

"If I must ask Edith Carson, I shall feel I am doing something against my will," says Lady Rodney.

"We have all to do that at times," says Sir Nicholas. "And there is another person, mother, I shall be glad if you will send a card to."

"Certainly dear. Who is it?"

"Paul Rodney," replies he, very distinctly.

"Nicholas!" cries his mother, faintly: "this is too much!"

"Nevertheless, to oblige me," entreats he, hastily.

"But this is morbid,--a foolish pride," protests she, pa.s.sionately, while all the others are struck dumb at this suggestion from Nicholas.

Is his brain failing? Is his intellect growing weak, that he should propose such a thing? Even Doatie, who as a rule supports Nicholas through evil report and good, sits silent and aghast at his proposition.