Monica: A Novel, Volume 2 (of 3) — Story, Setting & Ideas

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In Category - Marriage Society

Authors: Everett-Green, Evelyn, 1856-1932 Digital Source: Project Gutenberg Gutenberg Release Year: 2017 First Publication Year: Not confirmed

Key Word: Love stories; Marriage -- Fiction; Forgiveness -- Fiction Target Reader: Readers of public-domain and historical texts

Book Edition: Project Gutenberg digital edition Book Language: en

Edition facts

Words 30,957

Reading time 135 min

Text sections 11

For Monica: A Novel, Volume 2 (of 3) — Story, Setting & Ideas, the stored edition analysis reports 30,957 words, 2 hr 15 min estimated reading time, and 11 detected text sections.

The text analysis averages about 15.6 words per sentence, while the detected sections provide another way to judge how the source is divided.

Project Gutenberg metadata also associates the work with “Love stories,” connecting these edition facts with the source record’s subject description.

Source: Project Gutenberg record #54941

This volume follows Monica's marriage to Randolph, her uneasy friendship with Cecilia Bellamy, and the shadow cast by Conrad's return. The narrative moves between London society and Scottish retreats, using recurring images of moonlight, sea, and premonition to explore trust and fear.

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ne; and Monica, left alone in her luxurious London house, felt strangely lost and desolate. Her husband had expressed a wish that she should go out as much as possible, and not shut herself up in solitude during his brief absence, and to do his will was now her great desire. She would have preferred to remain quietly at home. She liked best to sit by her fire upstairs, and make Wilberforce tell her of Randolph’s childhood and boyish days; his devotion to his widowed mother, his kindness to herself, all the deeds of youthful prowess, which an old nurse treasures up respecting her youthful charges and delights to repeat in after years. Wilberforce would talk of Randolph by the hour together if she were not checked, and Monica felt singularly little disposition to check her.

However she obeyed her husband in everything, and took her morning’s ride as usual next day, and was met by Cecilia Bellamy, who rode beside her, with her train of cavaliers in attendance, and pitied the poor darling child who had been deserted by her husband.

“I am just in the same sad predicament myself, Monica,” she said, plaintively. “My husband has had to go to Paris, all of a sudden, and I am left alone too. We must console ourselves together. You must drive with me to-day and come to tea, and I will come to you to-morrow.”

Monica tried in vain to beg off; Cecilia only laughed at her. Monica had not _savoir faire_ enough to parry skilful thrusts, nor insincerity enough to plead engagements that did not exist. So she was monopolised by Mrs. Bellamy in her morning’s ride, was driven out in her carriage that same afternoon, and taken to several houses where her friend had “just a few words” to say to the hostess. She was taken back to tea, and had to meet Conrad, who received her with great warmth, and had the bad taste to address her by her Christian name before a whole roomful of company, and who ended by insisting on walking home with her. Yet his manner was so quiet and courteous, and he seemed so utterly unconscious of her disfavour, that she was half ashamed of it, despite her very real annoyance.

And the worst of it was that there seemed no end to the attentions pressed upon her by the indefatigable Cecilia. Monica did not know how to escape from the manifold invitations and visits that were showered upon her. She seemed fated to be for ever in the society of Mrs. Bellamy and her friends. Beatrice Wentworth and her brother were themselves out of town; Randolph was detained longer than he had at first anticipated, and Monica found herself drawn in an imperceptible way—against which she rebelled in vain—into quite a new set of people and places.

Monica was a mere baby in Cecilia’s hands. She had not the faintest idea of any malice on the part of her friend. She felt her attentions oppressive; she disliked the constant encounters with Conrad; but she tried in vain to free herself from the hospitable tyranny of the gay little woman. She was caught in some inexplicable way, and without downright rudeness she could not escape.

As a rule, Conrad was very guarded and discreet, especially when alone with her. He often annoyed her by his assumption of familiarity in presence of others, but he was humble enough for the most part, and took no umbrage at her rather pointed avoidance of him. She did not know what he was trying to do: how he was planning a subtle revenge upon his enemy her husband—the husband she was beginning unconsciously yet very truly to love. She shrank from him without knowing why, but the day was rapidly approaching when her eyes were to be opened.

Her instincts were so true that it was not easy to deceive her for long. Ignorance of the world and reluctance to suspect evil blinded her for a time; but she was to learn the true nature of her so-called friends before long.

There had been a small picnic party at Richmond one day. Monica had tried hard to excuse herself from attending, but had been laughed and coaxed into consent. It mattered the less what she did now, for her husband was to be at home the following day, and in the gladness of that thought she could almost enjoy the sunshine, the fresh air, the sight of green grass and waving trees, the country sights and sounds to which she had so long been a stranger.

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The second volume of Monica opens with Randolph's departure, leaving Monica alone in her London house. The narrative immediately establishes a pattern of separation and reunion, as Monica obeys her husband's wish to socialize while longing for quiet. Her encounter with Cecilia Bellamy introduces a social circle that contrasts with her private anxieties. The text moves between interior scenes—Monica by the fire with the nurse Wilberforce—and public spaces like rides and tea parties, where Conrad's presence unsettles her. This volume repeatedly uses the motif of the sea and moonlight to frame moments of emotional intensity, as when Monica and Randolph speak of love and parting by the moon-lit water.

Movement Between London and Retreat

The volume’s structure depends on a series of geographical shifts. It begins in Monica’s London house, then moves to a Scottish castle where she and Randolph spend days of happiness. Later chapters return to Trevlyn, the family estate. Each setting carries a different emotional register: London is associated with social obligation and the threat of Conrad; Scotland offers isolation and peace; Trevlyn brings unresolved tensions. The transitions are often abrupt, marked by chapter headings like “A Summons to Trevlyn” and “In Scotland.” These movements mirror Monica’s internal state—she feels “lost and desolate” when alone in London, but “very full of happiness and peace” in the Scottish retreat. The narrative does not linger in any one place, suggesting that stability is elusive.

Recurring Images of Moonlight and Sea

Two images recur throughout the excerpts: the sea and moonlight. In the climactic scene between Monica and Randolph, they stand looking “over the wide sea with a deep smile,” and Monica speaks of love “for eternity” as the moon lights the water. The sea becomes a symbol of both connection and potential separation—Monica fears that Conrad “will part us if he can,” and the vast expanse of water seems to mirror her uncertainty. Earlier, the moon-lit scene is contrasted with the “dim old castle” in Scotland, where the couple is alone. The text uses these images to create a visual rhythm: bright, open spaces of emotional honesty versus enclosed, shadowy interiors where fear lurks. This pattern reinforces the novel’s concern with visibility and concealment.

The Role of Premonition and Foreboding

Monica repeatedly expresses fears that she cannot fully articulate. She tells Randolph of “premonitions, presentiments” that she cannot shake, and she admits to a “horror” of Conrad that she once tried to suppress. These feelings are not dismissed by the narrative; instead, they are given weight through the structure of the volume. The chapter titled “A Shadow” follows a period of happiness, suggesting that the shadow is always present. Monica’s fear of parting is stated explicitly: “Now I do fear it. I fear it without knowing why.” The text does not resolve whether these premonitions are justified, but it uses them to create tension. The reader is left to wonder whether the shadow will materialize, as the volume ends with Monica still uneasy.

Dialogue as a Vehicle for Emotional States

The excerpts rely heavily on dialogue to convey the characters’ inner lives. Conversations between Monica and Randolph are often tender and philosophical, as when they discuss whether love can survive death. In contrast, exchanges with Cecilia Bellamy are marked by social maneuvering—Cecilia’s “plaintive” tone and her insistence on monopolizing Monica reveal a power dynamic. Conrad’s dialogue is not quoted directly in the excerpts, but his presence is felt through Monica’s reactions. The dialogue in the moon-lit scene is particularly structured: Randolph reassures, Monica confesses fear, and they build a shared affirmation of eternal love. This pattern of call-and-response suggests that speech is a way of managing anxiety, but the narrative undercuts it by showing that Monica’s fears persist.

Readers of this volume will notice how the narrative withholds resolution. The happiness Monica finds in Scotland is shadowed by the return to Trevlyn and the unresolved threat of Conrad. The text uses setting and recurring imagery to create a sense of impending crisis, but it does not reveal whether the premonitions will prove true. This volume is best approached as a middle act, where the emotional stakes are raised through contrast and repetition.