'Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul—'"
"Go on," said Mona.
"'Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul,
As the swift seasons roll!
Leave thy low-vaulted past.
Let each new temple, nobler than the last,
Shut thee from heaven by a dome more vast;
Till thou at length art free,
Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting sea!'"
Then suddenly it flashed on Mona wherein his great charm lay. He had one of the most beautiful voices she had ever heard.
"We might strike down to the beach here," he said, "and go home by the braes. It is ever so much pleasanter."
"Not to-day, I think," said Mona; but what she meant was, "Not with you."
They were deep in conversation when they reached Mrs Hamilton's gate, and he was almost in the act of walking on with her to her own door; but he suddenly remembered who she was, and thought better of it. Not a very noble consideration, perhaps, when looked at from the standpoint of eternity; but even the best of us do not at all times look at life from the standpoint of eternity.
"Who is that young—person, who lives with Miss Simpson?" he asked his aunt as they sat at lunch. He would have said "young lady" but for Mrs Hamilton's well-known prejudices on the subject. "She seems remarkably intelligent."
"She's a niece, I believe. Yes, she's sensible enough. I have not seen them since I came back."
"But you don't mean to say her mother was Miss Simpson's sister?"