"But what was the subject of it?"

"Oh--well--those thirty-five charming compatriots of Mona's who are now in the House of Commons, or, rather, out of it. It was a little tale that related to their expulsion the other night by the Speaker--and--er--other things."

"If it was a political quip," says Violet, "I shouldn't care about it."

This is fortunate. Every one feels that Nicholas is not only clever, but singularly lucky.

"It wasn't _all_ politics, of course," he says carefully.

Whereupon every one thinks he is a bold and daring man thus to risk fortune again.

It is at this particular moment that Violet, inadvertently raising her head, lets her eyes meet Jack Rodney's. On which that young man--being prompt in action--goes quickly up to her, and in sight of the a.s.sembled mult.i.tude takes her hand in his.

"Violet, you may as well tell them all now as at any other time," he says, persuasively.

"Oh, no, not now," pleads Violet, hastily. She rises hurriedly from her seat, and lays her disengaged hand on his lips. For once in her life she loses sight of her self-possession, and a blush, warm and rich as carmine, mantles on her cheek.

This fond coloring, suiting the exigencies of the moment suits her likewise. Never before has she looked so entirely pretty. Her lips tremble, her eyes grow pathetic. And Captain Rodney, already deeply in love, grows one degree more impressed with the fact of his own good fortune in having secured so enviable a bride.

Pa.s.sing his arm round her, he draws her closer to him.

"Mother, Violet has promised to marry me," he says abruptly. "Haven't you, Violet?"

And Violet says, "Yes," obediently, and then the tears come into her eyes, and a smile is born upon her lips, so sweet, so new, as compels Doatie to whisper to Mona, a little later on, that she "didn't think it was in Violet to look like that."

Here of course everybody says the most charming thing he or she can think of at a moment's notice; and then they all kiss Violet, and Nolly, coming back at this auspicious instant with the fan and recovered temper, joins in the general congratulations, and actually kisses her too, though Geoffrey whispers "traitor" to him in an awful tone, as he goes forward to do it.

"It is the sweetest thing that could have happened," says Dorothy, enthusiastically. "Now Mona and you and I will be real sisters."

"What a surprise it all is!" says Geoffrey, hypocritically.

"Yes, isn't it?" says Dorothy, quite in good faith; "though I don't know after all why it should be; we could see for ourselves; we knew all about it long ago!"

"Yes, _long_ ago," says Geoffrey, with animation. "Quite an hour ago."

"Oh! hardly!" says Violet with a soft laugh and another blush. "How could you?"

"A little bird whispered it to us," explains Geoffrey, lightly. Then, taking pity on Nolly's evident agony, he goes on "that is, you know, we guessed it; you were so long absent, and--and that."

There is something deplorably lame about this exposition, when you take into consideration the fact that the new lovers have been, during the past two months, _always_ absent from the rest of the family, as a rule.

But Violet is content.

"It is like a fairy-tale, and quite as pretty," says little Dorothy, who is quite safe to turn out an inveterate matchmaker when a few more years have rolled over her sunny head.

"Or like Nolly's story that he declines telling me," says Violet, with a laugh.

"Well, really, now you say it," says Geoffrey, as though suddenly struck with a satisfactory idea, "it is uncommonly like Nolly's tale: when you come to compare one with the other they sound almost similar."

"What! How could Jack or I resemble an Irish member?" asks she, with a little grimace.

"Everything has its romantic side," says Geoffrey, "even an Irish member, I dare say. And when you do induce Nolly to favor you with his last joke, you will see that it is positively bristling with romance."

CHAPTER x.x.xIX.

HOW WEDDING-BELLS CAN BE HEARD IN THE DISTANCE--HOW LOVE ENCOMPa.s.sES MONA--AND HOW AT LAST FAREWELL IS SPOKEN.

And now what remains to be told? But little, I think! For my gentle Mona has reached that haven where she would be!

Violet and Dorothy are to be married next month, both on the same day, at the same hour, in the same church,--St. George's Hanover Square, without telling. From old Lord Steyne's house in Mayfair, by Dorothy's special desire, both marriages are to take place, Violet's father being somewhat erratic in his tastes, and in fact at this moment wandering aimlessly among the Himalayas.

Mona is happier than words can say. She is up to her eyes in the business, that business sweetest to a woman's soul, the ordering and directing and general management of a trousseau. In her case she is doubly blessed, because she has the supervizing of two!

Her sympathy is unbounded, her temper equal to the most trying occasion, her heart open to the most petty grievances; she is to the two girls an unfailing source of comfort, a refuge where they may unrebuked pour out the indignation against their dressmakers that seems to rage unceasingly within their b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Indeed, as Dorothy says one day, out of the plenitude of her heart, "How we should possibly have got on without you, Mona, I shudder to contemplate."

Geoffrey happening to be present when this flattering remark is made, Violet turns to him and says impulsively,--

"Oh, Geoffrey, wasn't it well you went to Ireland and met Mona? Because if you had stayed on here last autumn we might have been induced to marry each other, and then what would have become of poor Jack?"

"What, indeed?" says Geoffrey, tragically. "Worse still, what would have become of poor Mona?"

"What is it you would say?" exclaims Mona, threatingly, turning towards him a lovely face she vainly tries to clothe with anger.

"It is insupportable such an insinuation," says the lively Doatie.

"Violet, Mona's cause is ours: what shall we do with him?"

"'Brain him with his lady's fan!'" quotes Violet, gayly, s.n.a.t.c.hing up Mona's fan that lies on a _prie-dieu_ near, and going up to Geoffrey.

So determined is her aspect that Geoffrey shows the white feather, and, crying "_mea culpa_," beats a hasty retreat.

From morn to dewy eve, nothing is discussed in bower or boudoir but flounces, frills, and furbelows,--three _f_'s that are considered at the Towers of far more vital importance than those other three of Mr.

Parnell's forming. And Mona, having proved herself quite in good taste in the matter of her own gowns, and almost an artist where coloring is concerned, is appealed to by both girls on all occasions about such things as must be had in readiness "Against their brydale day, which is not long."--As, for instance:--

"Mona, do you think Elise is right? she is so very positive; are you sure heliotrope is the correct shade to go with this?" Or--

"Dearest Mona, I must interrupt you again. Are you very busy? No? Oh, then do come and look at the last bonnet Madame Verot has just sent. She says there will be nothing to equal it this season. But," in a heart-broken voice, "I cannot bring myself to think it becoming."

Lady Rodney, too, is quite happy. Everything has come right; all is smooth again; there is no longer cause for chagrin and never-ending fear. With Paul Rodney's death the latter feeling ceased, and Mona's greatness of heart has subdued the former. She has conquered and laid her enemy low: without the use of any murderous force the walls have fallen down before her, and she has marched into the citadel with colors flying.

Yet does she not triumph over her beaten foe; nay, so different is it with her that she reaches forth her hand to raise her again, and strives by every tender means in her power to obliterate all memory of the unpleasant past.

And Lady Rodney is very willing that it should be obliterated. Just now, indeed, it is a favorite theory of hers that she could never have been really uncivil to dear Mona (she is always "dear Mona" of late days) but for the terrible anxiety that lay upon her, caused by the Australian and the missing will, and the cruel belief that soon Nicholas would be banished from the home where he had reigned so long as master. Had things gone happily with her, her mind would not have been so warped, and she would have learned at once to understand and appreciate the sweetness of the dear girl's character! And so on.