"As dejected as all that, Mr. Inwood?" she asked, as he rose to his feet. "Not dejected, Miss Tennant." "Why, then, these attitude? Wherefore those woe, young sir?" "I don’t know," he said listlessly. But she did—or thought she did; so she took his arm in friendly fashion and strolled about with him in the moonlight until she pretended that the beauty of the night tempted her toward the garden. He was alarmed for an instant, and hung back, scanning the rose garden with anxious eyes; but he could see nothing of Christine, and presently succumbed to Diana’s whim. To and fro among the late roses they paced, the girl light-heartedly rallying him on his soberness and lack of animation, until he laughed a little and squared his shoulders, and drew in a full deep breath of the soft air. "I thought every man flirted if offered an opportunity," said Diana, "but I’ve flung myself at your head in vain, young man. Evidently there’s some caterpillar at work on that damask cheek, or I’d be more generously appreciated." He laughed again, and tried to tell her how deeply he was appreciating her, but she shook her head and finally dropped his arm. "I’m going to the house," she said. "There’s an arbor across the garden. If you’ll wait for me there, perhaps I’ll return. Will you?" "Certainly," he said. So she turned and sped away among the roses, and he stood and watched her until she crossed the terrace and vanished into the house. For a few minutes he remained where he was standing; then, with a sigh, he swung on his heel and started toward the arbor, fumbling for his cigarette case as he walked. At the entrance he paused to strike a light—and remained motionless until the match burned close to his fingers. Then it fell on the gravel; he dropped the cigarette beside it. As he entered the arbor, a white figure, lying full length on a swinging seat, lifted its head from its arms, then sat up hastily. "Is that you, Miss Rivett?" "Yes." ... She rose to her feet, holding to one of the swinging chains. Moonlight fell across her white, confused face. "May I remain?" he asked unsteadily. "Would you rather have me go?" "No.... I am going.... My gown is damp.... I will go immediately." "Were you asleep?" She hesitated; but there was in her only honesty. "No," she said. "Then you must have heard my step on the gravel?" She shook her head. "Then what were you doing out here all alone with your head buried in your arms?" "Thinking," she said.... "Would you care to walk to the house with me, Mr. Inwood?" "Would you mind remaining here a little while?" "My gown is damp with dew." "Then perhaps we had better go?" "I think so." Neither stirred. "It is so warm and beautiful to-night," he said, "that I can’t imagine anybody taking cold out here." "It is a bad outlook for the flight shooters." "Yes, indeed. There is no frost in this wind."