Mona laid the leaf on the bronze cup, and lighted it. A thin stream of white smoke curled into the air, and, while the two women and the two men stood back to avoid the fumes, a sickly scent of tuberoses spread through the room. The leaf frizzled into nothing, and Dr. Horace slipped the still warm cup into his capacious pocket. "That's the last of the Sacred Herb in England," said he; and without saying farewell, trotted towards the door. There he stopped to wave a friendly hand, and departed, en route to Polynesia and to Easter Island.
Lady Sophia fell back on to the sofa. "I declare this smell makes me quite giddy," she said, sniffing; "it's like funerals and coffins. I don't wonder people go into trances with it and see things." She bent forward, with her lorgnette to her eyes, and laughed. "I am in a trance now," she said gaily. "I see—I see—the prettiest bride in the Three Kingdoms."
"And the happiest bridegroom," said Prelice, slipping his arm round Mona's waist.
"And I see—I see——"
"You see this," said Mona; and laying her arms about her lover's neck, she kissed him fairly on the mouth.
"I think trances are quite improper," said Lady Sophia, rising. "My dear, if you will ask me to remain to dinner, I'll stop and talk over your wedding-dress."