Warm-hued lanterns decorated the Pavilion and filled the bedchambers with a dim, wavering and unreal light. Ambrose retired and composed his mind. But outside on the verandah he could hear Lychnis and Ruby whispering and the swish of their robes on the floor.
“I don’t like it, Licky darling,” said Ruby’s voice. “I’m frightened. I don’t like our room.”
“Well, daddy’s next door, and your father is somewhere close by.”
“I don’t like the place where we are, not by night.”
“I do,” was the answer. “It’s the same valley by night as it was by day. Can’t you feel how warm and redolent it is?”
“But it’s so strange.”
“I love what’s strange.”
“I feel as if something, someone mysterious, might come and seize us.”
“I should like someone mysterious to come and seize me.”
“Oh, Lychnis, you are dreadful!”
There was no answer. Then, after a silence, Ruby spoke again in a breathless whisper: “Oh, look! There’s somebody under the trees.”
A pause.
“Silly! It’s only Quentin. How mad of him!”
Lord Sombrewater’s voice broke in from somewhere: “Go to bed at once, you two.”
Ambrose went out to the verandah in time to see the two silken forms vanish. But he was quite sure that Lychnis turned and waved to the dim figure under the trees. Her eyes shone.
