Thaine and Leigh did not hurry on their homeward way. And Jo Bennington, wide awake in the guest room of the Aydelot house, noted that the moon was far toward the west when Thaine let himself in at the side door and slipped up stairs unheard by all the household except herself. "Let's go down by the lake," Thaine suggested as he and Leigh came to the edge of the grove. "It's full to the bridge, and the lilies are wide open now. Are you too sleepy to look at them? You used to draw them with chalk all along the blackboard in the old schoolhouse up there." "I'm never too sleepy to look at water lilies in the moonlight," Leigh replied, "nor too tired to paint them, either. Lilies are a part of my creed. 'Consider the lilies, how they grow.'" "With their long rubbery stems, up out of mud mostly," Thaine said carelessly. "I pretty nearly grew fast along with them down there, till I learned how to gather them a better way." The woodland shadows were thrust through with shafts of white moonbeams, giving a weird setting to the silent midnight hour. The odor of woods' blossoms came with the moist, fresh breath of the May night. There was a little song of waters gurgling down the spillway that was once only a dry draw choked with wild plum bushes. The road wound picturesquely through the grove to a bridged driveway that separated the lakelet into two parts. A spread of silvery light lay on this driveway and Thaine checked his horse in the midst of it while the two looked at the waters. "It's all just silver or sable. There's no middle tone," Leigh said, looking at the sparkling moonbeams reflected on the face of the lake and the darkness of the shadowed surface beyond them. "Isn't there pink, or creamy, or something softer in those lilies right by the bank? I'm no artist, but that's how it looks to a clod-hopper," Thaine declared. "You are an artist, or you wouldn't catch that, where most anybody would see only steely white and dead black. It is the only color in this black and white woodsy place," Leigh insisted, looking up at Thaine's face in the shadow and down at her own white dress. "There's a bit of color in your cheeks," Thaine said, as he studied the girl's fair countenance, all pink and white in the moonlight. "Oh, not the pretty blooming roses like Jo Bennington has," Leigh said, smiling frankly and folding her hands contentedly in her lap.