A moment later Matilda reappeared, shy and awkward.
"Would you mind telling me again that thing you said about the martyrs?"
Mona smiled. "If you wait a moment, I will write it down for you;" and, tearing a leaf from her note-book, she wrote out the whole verse—
"No, no, by all the martyrs and the dear dead Christ;
By the long bright roll of those whom joy enticed
With her myriad blandishments, but could not win,
Who would fight for victory, but would not sin."
Matilda read it through, and then carefully folded the paper. In doing so she noticed some writing on the back, and read aloud—
"Lady Munro, Poste Restante, Cannes." "Who is Lady Munro?" she asked, with unintentional rudeness.
"She is my aunt. I did not know her address was written there." Mona tore off the name, and handed back the slip of paper.
"Lady Munro your aunt, and you live with Miss Simpson?"
"Why not? Miss Simpson is my cousin."
"Miss Maclean, if I had a 'Lady' for my aunt, everybody should know it. I don't believe I should even travel in a railway carriage, without the other passengers finding it out."