"Oh not for ever so long," returns she, with much and heartless unconcern. (His spirits sink to zero.) "Certainly not until Friday," she goes on, carelessly. (As this is Wednesday, his spirits once more rise into the seventh heaven.) "Or Saturday, or Sunday, or perhaps some day next week," she says, unkindly.
"If on Friday night there is a good moon," says Rodney, boldly, "will you take me, as you promised, to see the Bay?"
"Yes, if it is fine," says Mona, after a faint hesitation.
Then she accompanies him to the door, but gravely, and not with her accustomed gayety. Standing on the door-step he looks at her, and, as though impelled to ask the question because of her extreme stillness, he says, "Of what are you thinking?"
"I am thinking that the man we saw before going into Kitty's cabin is the murderer!" she says, with a strong shudder.
"I thought so all along," says Geoffrey, gravely.
CHAPTER VI.
HOW THE MYSTIC MOONBEAMS THROW THEIR RAYS ON MONA; AND HOW GEOFFREY, JEALOUS OF THEIR ADMIRATION, DESIRES TO CLAIM HER AS HIS OWN.
Friday is fine, and towards nightfall grows still milder, until it seems that even in the dawn of October a summer's night may be born.