"There are things that chill one more than water," returns he, slightly offended by her tone.
"You are all wet. Do go home and change your clothes," says Mona, who is still sitting on the grass with her gown spread carefully around her. "Or perhaps"-reluctantly—"it will be better for you to go to the farm, where Bridget will look after you."
"Thank you; so I shall, if you will come with me."
"Don't mind me," says Miss Scully, hastily. "I shall follow you by and by."
"By and by will suit me down to the ground," declares he, easily. "The day is fortunately warm: damp clothes are an advantage rather than otherwise."
Silence. Mona taps the mound beside her with impatient fingers, her mind being evidently great with thought.
"I really wish," she says, presently, "you would do what I say. Go to the farm, and—stay there."
"Well, come with me, and I'll stay till you turn me out.'
"I can't," faintly.
"Why not?" in a surprised tone.