"Pretty? No. But she dresses very swagger, and always looks nice, and is generally correct all through," replies Mr. Rodney, easily.
"I know," says Mona, sadly.
"She's the girl my mother wanted me to marry, you know," goes on Rodney, unobservant, as men always are, of the small signals of distress hung out by his companion.
"Oh, indeed!" says Mona; and then, with downcast eyes, "but I don't know, because you never told me before."
"I thought I did," says Geoffrey, waking slowly to a sense of the situation.
"Well, you didn't," says Mona. "Are you engaged to her?"
"If I was, how could I ask you to marry me?" returns he, in a tone so hurt that she grows abashed.
"I hope she isn't in love with you," she says, slowly.
"You may bet anything you like on that," says Geoffrey, cheerfully. "She cares for me just about as much as I care for her,—which means exactly nothing."
"I am very glad," says Mona, in a low tone.