Just in front of it Talbot stops her to point out to her a shooting-star that is darting its trail of glory through the immensities of space. Has he not heard those voices--he must have been deaf if he did not--nor observed that marked succeeding silence? He shows no sign of uneasiness or curiosity. His eye is resting apparently, with a calmer enjoyment than she can bring to it, on the gold mist rolling its gauzy-billows in the hollows of the park. It is only to those who come to her with a tranquil and disengaged mind that the great mother gives the real key of her treasure-houses; and Peggy's mind to-night is too ruffled to give her any claim to the great endowment. They are standing silently side by side, when a noise, proceeding from the inside of the kiosk, makes itself audible--a noise apparently intended to counterfeit the mewing of a cat, followed by the crowing of a most improbable cock. Talbot does not even turn his head. 'We are not at all frightened, and not much amused,' he says, in a clear matter-of-fact voice. 'You had not an idea that we were here, had you?' cries Lady Betty, springing out of the temple, followed by Freddy Ducane. 'Did not I mew well? and did not Freddy crow badly? Freddy, you have no more idea of crowing than a carp.' 'I can do better than that,' replies Freddy, in self-defence. 'I am not in voice to-night.' 'But you had not a notion that we were here, had you?' repeats Lady Betty pertinaciously. 'As we had heard you talking at the top of your voices for half a mile before we came up to you, we had some slight inkling of it.' Peggy wonders whether the cold dryness of his tone is as patent to the person to whom it is addressed as it is to herself. She supposes that it is, since she instantly takes possession of him; and, under the pretext of showing him a plant which can scarcely be distinguishable from its neighbours under the colourless moonlight, walks him off into a dusky alley. Margaret remains alone with Freddy. '"Why so dull and mute, young sinner? Prithee, why so mute?"' says he familiarly, approaching her. She looks him fully and gravely in the face. Most people find it difficult to look at Freddy Ducane without smiling. Peggy feels no such inclination. Between her and this image of youth and sunshine there rises another image--a poor little image, to whom this gay weather-cock gives its weather--a little image that expands or shrinks as this all-kissing zephyr blows warm or cold upon it. 'Because I have nothing to say, I suppose,' replies she shortly. 'Come with me to the walled garden'--in a wheedling voice--'and show me the stars.' 'Thank you, I can see them quite well here.' '"My pretty Peg, my pretty Peg, Ah, never look so shy!"' cries he, breaking into a laugh, which she does not echo. 'I am not your pretty Peg; and I have told you several times that I will not be called "Peg."'