ly God wasn't half as small as people seemed always making
Him--a sort of superior man a little bigger than themselves! Even the
very most beautiful and wonderful and awful things one could imagine or
make, could only be just nothing to a God who had a temple like the night
out there. But then you couldn't be married alone, and no girl would ever
like to be married without rings and flowers and dresses, and words that
made it all feel small and cosy! Cis might have, perhaps, only she
wouldn't, because of not hurting other people's feelings; but
Sylvia--never--she would be afraid. Only, of course, she was young! And
the thread of his thoughts broke--and scattered like beads from a string.

Leaning out, and resting his chin on his hands, he drew the night air
into his lungs. Honeysuckle, or was it the scent of lilies still? The
stars all out, and lots of owls to-night--four at least. What would
night be like without owls and stars? But that was it--you never could
think what things would be like if they weren't just what and where they
were. You never knew what was coming, either; and yet, when it came, it
seemed as if nothing else ever could have come. That was queer-you could
do anything you liked until you'd done it, but when you HAD done it, then
you knew, of course, that you must always have had to . . . What was
that light, below and to the left? Whose room? Old Tingle's--no, the
little spare room--Sylvia's! She must be awake, then! He leaned far
out, and whispered in the voice she had said was still furry:

"Sylvia!"

The light flickered, he could just see her head appear, with hair all
loose, and her face turning up to him. He could only half see, half
imagine it, mysterious, blurry; and he whispered:

"Isn't this jolly?"

The whisper travelled back:

"Awfully."

"Aren't you sleepy?"

"No; are you?"

"Not a bit. D'you hear the owls?"

"Rather."

"Doesn't it smell good?"

"Perfect. Can you see me?"

"Only just, not too much. Can you?"

"I can't see your nose. Shall I get the candle?"

"No--that'd spoil it. What are you sitting on?"

"The window sill."

"It doesn't twist your neck, does it?"

"No--o--only a little bit."

"Are you hungry?"

"Yes."

"Wait half a shake. I'll let down some chocolate in my big bath towel;
it'll swing along to you--reach out."

A dim white arm reached out.

"Catch! I say, you won't get cold?"

"Rather not."

"It's too jolly to sle