worms. The stars were shining above
the overarching roof of foliage, the harvest moon was rising over the
distant sea.

"What a beautiful place Jersey is!" exclaimed Vixen innocently, as she
strolled lower down the lane, circled by her lover's arm. "I had no
idea it was half so lovely. But then of course I was never allowed to
roam about in the moonlight. And, indeed, Rorie, I think we had better
go in directly. Miss Skipwith will be wondering."

"Let her wonder, love. I can explain everything when we go in. She was
young herself once upon a time, though one would hardly give her credit
for it; and you may depend she has walked in this lane by moonlight.
Yes, by the light of that very same sober old moon, who has looked down
with the same indulgent smile upon endless generations of lovers."

"From Adam and Eve to Antony and Cleopatra," suggested Vixen, who
couldn't get Egypt out of her head.

"Antony and Cleopatra were middle-aged lovers," said Rorie. "The moon
must have despised them. Youth is the only season when love is wisdom,
Vixen. In later life it means folly and drivelling, wrinkles badly
hidden under paint, pencilled eyebrows, and false hair. Aphrodite
should be for ever young."

"Perhaps that's why the poor thing puts on paint and false hair when
she finds youth departed," said Vixen.

"Then she is no longer Aphrodite, but Venus Pandemos, and a wicked old
harridan," answered Rorie.

And then he began to sing, with a rich full voice that rolled far upon
the still air.

"Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,
Old Time is still a-flying;
And this same flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow will be dying,

"Then be not coy, but use your time,
And while ye may, go marry;
For having lost but once your prime,
You may for ever tarry."

"What a fine voice you have, Rorie!" cried Vixen.

"Have I really? I thought that it was only Lord Mallow who could sing.
Do you know that I was desperately jealous of that nobleman, once--when
I fancied he was singing himself into your affections. Little did I
think that he was destined to become your greatest benefactor."

"I shall make you sing duets with me, sir, by-and-by."

"You shall make me stand on my head, or play clown in an amateur
pantomime, or do anything supremely ridiculous, if you like. 'Being
your slave what can I do----'"

"Yes, you must sing Mendelssohn with me. 'I would that my love,' and
'Greeting.'"

"I have only one idea of gree