r there was in the garden! There had been a little
rain in the night, but Valentia supposed it to be dew. Every little
sound seemed the softest music, to the sound of which little dainty
things seemed to be dancing in the air. The Green Gate, a red Georgian
house, seen in the early glamour with all its blinds down, except one,
seemed like a thing half asleep with one eye open.

For a moment she was a little frightened. He was late. She had perhaps
got up for nothing. But no, it was worth it. It was lovely here.

Another eye of the house slowly opened, and soon Romeo, or Paolo, or
Faust, appeared. True, he was disguised as a flannelled fool, with a
sketch-book under his arm. But it _was_ Faust, or Romeo, or Paolo, all
the same. He looked very handsome. The thought of scoring off other
people in the house had raised his spirits and had even made him wake up
in time. Valentia's conversation with Vaughan, whom she knew to be
honest and believed to be brilliant, had left a certain insidious
influence on her which would tell gradually, and yet their talk had had
rather a contradictory effect for the moment. She wanted to prove to
herself that he was wrong. And Harry felt that his time was growing
short. Very soon he must put an end to it all.

This thought made him more affectionate. It occurred to him for a moment
that he would tell her in the orchard; but, of course, he didn't. Every
day he thought he would tell her, and something always happened to
prevent it. Besides, there would have to be a quarrel anyhow at the end,
so why make it longer than necessary?

They sat down under the cherry-tree.

"Fancy you, Valentia, a minion of the moon, rising before dawn! Let me
look at you. You fill me with wonder and joy."

"Did you mind getting up _very_ much, Harry?"

"It _was_ rather hard. Listen!... That's a thrush, making a scene with
another thrush in the tree."

"Is it? How do you know?"

"Of course it is! How do _you_ know things? How did you know exactly
what to wear, Val? I knew you had clothes for every possible occasion;
but still, to choose the _exact_ right dress to put on to meet your
cousin at dawn in the orchard seems--well, rather extraordinary. Pinkish
blue--or is it bluish pink?--to match the sky. How jolly! It fastens in
front."

"Well, of course I couldn't expect Ogburn to get up in the middle of the
night."

"And no hatpins for once, thank goodness."

"Well, if we _sat up_ till now I shouldn't be