Mr. Winthrop wished to see you about something."
I did not reply, neither did she inquire where I had bestowed myself out
of reach of their voices. I felt certain Mr. Winthrop's curiosity would
be more insistent, and was quite right in my conjectures. He came in as
usual, just on the minute, and seating himself, went through with the
formality of grace; but before our plates were served, he turned to me
and rather sternly said: "Are you in the habit of going out for solitary
night rambles?"
"I never did but once," I faltered, too proudly honest to give an evasive
answer.
"That once, I presume, occurred last night?"
"Yes."
"Strictly speaking, it wanted just five minutes to nine when you slipped
stealthily into the side entrance."
I sat, culprit-like, in silence, while his eyes were watching me closely.
"Don't you think two hours a long time to be loitering about the garden
in the dark?"
"You must not be too hard on Medoline," Mrs. Flaxman interposed. "It is
an instinct with young folk to stray under the starlight and dream their
dreams. No doubt we both have been guilty of doing it in our time." I
flashed Mrs. Flaxman a look of gratitude, and wondered at the naive way
she counted Mr. Winthrop with herself, as if he too had arrived at staid
middle-agehood.
"Dreaming under stars and wandering around in attendance on widows are
two very different occupations," he said, quietly, and without a break in
his voice asked Mrs. Flaxman what he should help her to.
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