‘I asked Miss Weston about that,’ said Phyllis, ‘because of the Psalm, and she said it was because it was dangerous to go to sleep in the open air in hot countries. Ada, I wish you could see now. There is the great round moon in the middle of the sky, and the sky such a beautiful colour, and a few such great bright stars, and the trees so dark, and the white lilies standing up on the black pond, and the lawn all white with dew! what a fine day it will be to-morrow!’ ‘A fine day for you!’ said Ada, ‘but only think of poor me all alone by myself.’ ‘You will have baby,’ said Phyllis. ‘Baby—if he could talk it would be all very well. It is just like the cross people in books. Here I shall lie and cry all the time, while you are dancing about as merry as can be.’ ‘No, no, Ada, you will not do that,’ said Phyllis, with tears in her eyes. ‘There is baby with all his pretty ways, and you may teach him to say Aunt Ada, and I will bring you in numbers of flowers, and there is your new doll, and all the pretty things that came from London, and the new book of Fairy Tales, and all sorts—oh! no, do not cry, Ada.’ ‘But I shall, for I shall think of you dancing, and not caring for me.’ ‘I do care, Ada—why do you say that I do not? I cannot bear it, Ada, dear Ada.’ ‘You don’t, or you would not go and leave me alone.’ ‘Then, Ada, I will not go,’ said Phyllis; ‘I could not bear to leave you crying here all alone.’ ‘Thank you, dear good Phyl, but I think you will not have much loss. You know you do not like dancing, and you cannot do it well, and they will be sure to laugh at you.’ ‘And I daresay Redgie and Marianne will tell us all about it,’ said Phyllis, sighing. ‘I should rather like to have seen it, but they will tell us.’ ‘Then do you promise to stay?—there’s a dear,’ said Ada. ‘Yes,’ said Phyllis. ‘Cousin Robert is coming in, and that will be very nice, and I hope he will not look as he did the day the gunpowder went off—oh, dear!’ She went back to the window to get rid of her tears unperceived. ‘Ah,’ cried she, ‘there is some one in the garden!’ ‘A man!’ screamed Ada—‘a thief, a robber—call somebody!’ ‘No, no,’ said Phyllis, laughing, ‘it is only William; he has been out all the evening, and now papa has come out to speak to him, and they are walking up and down together. I wonder whether he has been sitting with Cousin Robert or at Broomhill! Well, good-night, Ada. Here comes Hannah.’ CHAPTER XXV THE THIRTIETH OF JULY ‘The heir, with roses in his shoes, That night might village partner choose.’ THE 30th of July was bright and clear, and Phyllis was up early, gathering flowers, which, with the help of Jane’s nimble fingers, she made into elegant little bouquets for each of her sisters, and for Claude. ‘How is this?’ said Mr. Hawkesworth, pretending to look disconsolate, ‘am I to sing “Fair Phyllida flouts me,” or why is my button-hole left destitute?’ ‘Perhaps that is for you on the side-table,’ said Lily.