and now what remains to be told? but little, i think! for my gentle mona has reached that haven where she would be!
violet and dorothy are to be married next month, both on the same day, at the same hour, in the same church,—st. george's hanover square, without telling. from old lord steyne's house in mayfair, by dorothy's special desire, both marriages are to take place, violet's father being somewhat erratic in his tastes, and in fact at this moment wandering aimlessly among the himalayas.
mona is happier than words can say. she is up to her eyes in the business, that business sweetest to a woman's soul, the ordering and directing and general management of a trousseau. in her case she is doubly blessed, because she has the supervizing of two!
her sympathy is unbounded, her temper equal to the most trying occasion, her heart open to the most petty grievances; she is to the two girls an unfailing source of comfort, a refuge where they may unrebuked pour out the indignation against their dressmakers that seems to rage unceasingly within their breasts.
indeed, as dorothy says one day, out of the plenitude of her heart, "how we should possibly have got on without you, mona, i shudder to contemplate."
geoffrey happening to be present when this flattering remark is made, violet turns to him and says impulsively,—
"oh, geoffrey, wasn't it well you went to ireland and met mona? because if you had stayed on here last autumn we might have been induced to marry each other, and then what would have become of poor jack?"
"what, indeed?" says geoffrey, tragically. "worse still, what would have become of poor mona?"
"what is it you would say?" exclaims mona, threatingly, turning towards him a lovely face she vainly tries to clothe with anger.
"it is insupportable such an insinuation," says the lively doatie. "violet, mona's cause is ours: what shall we do with him?"
"'brain him with his lady's fan!'" quotes violet, gayly, snatching up mona's fan that lies on a prie-dieu near, and going up to geoffrey.
so determined is her aspect that geoffrey shows the white feather, and, crying "mea culpa," beats a hasty retreat.
from morn to dewy eve, nothing is discussed in bower or boudoir but flounces, frills, and furbelows,—three f's that are considered at the towers of far more vital importance than those other three of mr. parnell's forming. and mona, having proved herself quite in good taste in the matter of her own gowns, and almost an artist where coloring is concerned, is appealed to by both girls on all occasions about such things as must be had in readiness "against their brydale day, which is not long."—as, for instance:—
"mona, do you think elise is right? she is so very positive; are you sure heliotrope is the correct shade to go with this?" or—
"dearest mona, i must interrupt you again. are you very busy? no? oh, then do come and look at the last bonnet madame verot has just sent. she says there will be nothing to equal it this season. but," in a heart-broken voice, "i cannot bring myself to think it becoming."
lady rodney, too, is quite happy. everything has come right; all is smooth again; there is no longer cause for chagrin and never-ending fear. with paul rodney's death the latter feeling ceased, and mona's greatness of heart has subdued the former. she has conquered and laid her enemy low: without the use of any murderous force the walls have fallen down before her, and she has marched into the citadel with colors flying.
yet does she not triumph over her beaten foe; nay, so different is it with her that she reaches forth her hand to raise her again, and strives by every tender means in her power to obliterate all memory of the unpleasant past.
and lady rodney is very willing that it should be obliterated. just now, indeed, it is a favorite theory of hers that she could never have been really uncivil to dear mona (she is always "dear mona" of late days) but for the terrible anxiety that lay upon her, caused by the australian and the missing will, and the cruel belief that soon nicholas would be banished from the home where he had reigned so long as master. had things gone happily with her, her mind would not have been so warped, and she would have learned at once to understand and appreciate the sweetness of the dear girl's character! and so on.
mona accepts this excuse for bygone injustice, and even encourages her mother-in-law to enlarge upon it,—seeing how comfortable it is to her so to do,—and furthermore tries hard in her own kind heart to believe in it also.
she is perhaps as near being angry with geoffrey as she can be when one day he pooh-poohs this charitable thought and gives it as his belief that worry had nothing to do with it, and that his mother behaved uncommonly badly all through, and that sheer obstinacy and bad temper was the cause of the whole matter.
"she had made up her mind that you would be insupportable, and she couldn't forgive you because you weren't," says that astute young man, with calm conviction. "don't you be taken in, mona."
but mona in such a case as this prefers being "taken in" (though she may object to the phrase), and in process of time grows positively fond of lady rodney.
"in company with so divine a face, no rancorous thoughts could live," said the duke on one memorable occasion, alluding to mona, which speech was rather a lofty soat for his grace, he being for the most part of the earth, earthy.
yet in this he spoke the truth, echoing spenser (though unconsciously), where he says,——
"so every spirit, as it is most pure
and hath in it the more of heavenly light.
so it the fairer bodie doth procure
to habit in.
for of the soule the bodie forme doth take,
for soule is forme and doth the bodie make."
with lady rodney she will, i think, be always the favorite daughter. she is quite her right hand now. she can hardly get on without her, and tells herself her blankest days are those when mona and geoffrey return to their own home, and the towers no longer echoes to the musical laugh of old brian scully's niece, or to the light footfall of her pretty feet. violet and dorothy will no doubt be dear; but mona, having won it against much odds, will ever hold first place in her affections.
after all, she has proved a great success. she has fought her fight, and gained her victory; but the conquered has deep reason to be grateful to her victor.
where would they all be now but for her timely entry into the library on that night never to be forgotten, and her influence over the poor dead and gone cousin? even in the matter of fortune she has not been behindhand, paul rodney's death having enriched her beyond all expectation. without doubt, therefore, there is good reason to rejoice over mrs. geoffrey.
to this name, given to her in such an unkindly spirit, mona clings with singular pertinacity. once when nolly has called her by it in lady rodney's hearing, the latter raises her head, and a remorseful light kindles in her eyes; and when mr. darling has taken himself away she turns entreatingly to mona, and, with a warm accession of coloring, says, earnestly,—
"my dear, i behaved badly to you in that matter. let me tell oliver to call you mrs. rodney for the future. it is your proper name."
but mona will not be entreated; sweetly, but firmly, she declines to alter the sobriquet given her so long ago now. with much gentleness she tells lady rodney that she loves the name; that it is dearer to her than any other could ever be; that to be mrs. geoffrey is the utmost height of her very heighest ambition; and to change it now would only cause her pain and a vague sense of loss.
so after this earnest protest no more is ever said to her apon the subject, and mrs. geoffrey she is now to her mends, and mrs. geoffrey, i think, she will remain to the end of the chapter.
