"A little," says Mona. It is perhaps the nearest approach to a falsehood she has ever made.
"Perhaps you would rather rest for a while. Do you know this is the first time I have ever been inside the Towers?" He says this as one might who is desirous of making conversation, yet there is a covert meaning in his tone. Mona is silent. To her it seems a base thing that he should have accepted the invitation at all.
"I have heard the library is a room well worth seeing," goes on the Australian, seeing she will not speak.
"Yes; every one admires it. It is very old. You know one part of the Towers is older than all the rest."
"I have heard so. I should like to see the library," says Paul, looking at her expectantly.
"You can see it now if you wish," says Mona, quickly, the thought that she may be able to entertain him in some fashion that will not require conversation is dear to her. She therefore takes his arm, and leads him out of the ballroom, and across the halls into the library, which is brilliantly lighted, but just at this moment empty.
I forget if I described it before, but it is a room quite perfect in every respect, a beautiful room, oak-panelled from floor to ceiling, with this peculiarity about it, that whereas three of the walls have their panels quite long, without a break from top to bottom, the fourth—that is, the one in which the fireplace has been inserted—has the panels of a smaller size, cut up into pieces from about one foot broad to two feet long.
The Australian seems particularly struck with this fact. He stares in a thoughtful fashion at the wall with the small panels, seeming blind to the other beauties of the room.
"Yes, it is strange why that wall should be different from the others," Mona says, rather glad that he appears interested in something besides herself. "But it is altogether quite a nice old room, is it not?"
"It is," replies he, absently. Then, below his breath, "and well worth fighting for."