The evening was soft and warm and mellow, with a large full October moon less white than usual, throwing broad beams of the palest gold over the dark garden. Batty watched them go out with doubtful eyes, unable quite to keep himself from vulgar interpretations of Innocent’s submission to her cousin, yet confident in the power of “my girl” to retain her husband’s devotion, and caring very little about the other. Besides he was flattered in spite of himself that Innocent should be there under his roof. Two great families, the one more “stuck up” than the other, seemed thus to be holding out an olive branch to him, and already Batty felt himself mounting the steps of social grandeur. He sat over his port, meditating on the moment when he could change that drink for more natural brandy and water--when another vehement assault upon the floor overhead roused him. “She’ll make herself worse than ever,” Batty said to himself; and going to the stairs he shouted in his great voice, “Steady there, steady, ’Manda. She’s a coming; she’s a coming.” Then he went out into the garden to seek the other two. The grass was wet with dew, the leaves, which had begun to change colour, showed like flowers in the moonlight. He followed the soft sound of sauntering steps along two or three windings of the path. Then he came in sight of the pair he sought; Frederick was walking along indifferently enough, smoking his cigar, with one hand thrust into his pocket! Innocent by his side held his arm so cavalierly and carelessly bent with her hand. She went along by him like his shadow; she looked up at him with a half smile upon her face, to which the moonlight lent an aspect of deeper and more impassioned self-devotion than Innocent knew. Frederick, in low tones, and with now and then a demonstrative gesture of the disengaged hand with which he sometimes took his cigar from his lips, was laying down the law about something. Probably he was inculcating that first duty of woman, to “consider me, not yourself,” or some other equally plain and fundamental principle. The sight struck Batty with a certain jealousy by reflection. So intimate a conversation could scarcely be without somehow infringing upon the rights of “his girl.” Had it been Frederick’s sister, probably he would have had the same feeling; but in that case he would have been less at liberty to interfere. “Hollo!” he said, “don’t you know Mrs. Frederick is all alone, while you two are gallivanting and philandering here? Come along, Miss; you’re safer with my ’Manda than with that young spark. _I_ know him better than you do. Come along, come along, or she’ll bring down the house; and not much wonder either if she saw as much as I see--but I’ll tell no tales,” he said, with a coarse laugh.