They had gone up to bed, leaving the men to smoke; suddenly Nan put on her dress, saying that she heard her father calling. Jehane prepared for bed slowly; by the time she was ready to slip between the sheets Nan had not returned. She blew out the candle; the room was instantly suffused with liquid moonlight and velvet shadow. In the darkness, as often happens, her senses became sharpened--she heard a multitude of sounds. Somewhere near the church, probably from the tower, an owl was hooting. In the distance a dog barked. She could hear the wash of the river among its rushes, and the padding of a footstep on the lawn. Romance in her was stirred. Going to the window, she leant out; she was greeted by the strong fragrance of roses. Sheaves, standing in rows throughout the fields, looked like a sleeping camp. Trees, save where mists thumbed them, were etched distinctly against the indigo horizon. The white disc of the moon, like a paper lantern, hung balanced between the edges of two clouds. Its light, streaming down the sky, was like milk poured across black marble. Nature seemed to have blinded her eyes and to hold her breath. Across the lawn from the open study window, a shaft of gold slanted, making the darkness on either side intense by contrast. As Jehane listened, she heard what seemed a panting close to the wall beneath her. She leant further out and discerned a blur of white. She was about to speak when the red glow of a cigar, thrown down among the bushes, warned her. “At last! You've never given me a chance to be alone with you. I've wanted you all summer, little Nan.” His arms were round her. As he stooped above her, her face was blotted out... He was speaking again. “Your father saw it. That's why he called you.... If I'd had to wait much longer, I should have asked you before her. Why--why would you never let us be alone together?” Nan's voice came muffled beneath his kisses. “Because, Billy darling, I wanted to play fair.” “Fair?” An answer followed, so softly whispered that it did not carry--a surprised exclamation from the man. Jehane had tiptoed from the window. With her black hair tumbled about her, her hands pressed against her mouth, she lay sobbing. The night had lost its magic.... Nan entered the room stealthily. She glanced toward the bed. Thinking Jehane was sleeping, she did not light the candle, but commenced to fumble at her fastenings, undressing in the dark. A sob refused to be stifled any longer. Nan paused in her undressing and stood tense; then ran and bent above the bed. Seizing Jehane by the shoulders, she tried to turn her face toward her. “Oh, Janey, I did, I did play fair. I told you every time he was coming.... Say you'll still be friends.” But Jehane said nothing. Next morning she greeted Barrington with her accustomed mixture of proud restraint and sullenness. “We've been expecting this all summer. We wondered when it would happen. I hope you'll be very happy.”