arion."

"Are you crying?"

"Yes, I ... I am crying."

Marion sat down on the box at Billy's side, also feeling very much like
crying. Both were silent for a time, then Marion asked,

"Was he here?"

"Yes," replied Billy.

"And did he," continued Marion, "did he say anything? Are you engaged?"

"Yes, I believe so," Billy opined, "but everything is very sad just the
same."

Again the two girls sat in silence side by side. Voices were heard out
in the garden, some one called, "Billy! Marion!" and then it became
quiet.

"Come," said Billy, getting up, "but we won't join the others, for I
don't want to see anybody, nor do I want any tea; we'll go up to our
rooms without letting anybody see us."

Over the roof of the house the moon had risen; the garden was suddenly
alight and the shadows of the trees lay sharp and black on the moonlit
paths. The two girls crept past the bushes along the box-hedge; from
time to time they stood still and listened toward the veranda. There
the others were sitting, and Billy heard the voice of the professor,
then the voice of her father.

"Death, my dear Professor," the latter was just saying, "is
incomprehensible to us for this reason, that we apply to it the
standards of life. It is the same as with dreams. Apply to a dream the
standards of waking, and you will never find your way in it."

"Good heavens," whispered Billy scornfully, "they are talking about
death." Briskly the two girls slipped into the house. Upstairs in the
gable were their rooms, side by side, and they had in common a large
balcony which looked out on the garden. Billy's room was bright with
moonlight, hence she did not light a light. "Has it come?" she asked
Marion.

"Yes," said Marion, "today in the mail," and she fetched out a small
package. By the light of the moon the two girls opened it; it contained
a white china jar with "Anadyomenite" on the lid, and in it was a white
salve which had a sweet odor of roses. "Here are directions, too," said
Marion: she held up a slip in the moonlight and read, "Spread a thin
coat of the salve on the face and then expose it for half an hour to a
soft light, preferably the light of the full moon. The skin becomes
transparent, lily-white ..."

"Good, good," interrupted Billy, "then let's begin."

Silently and eagerly they went to work; carefully they coated their
faces with the salve before the mirror, moved chairs out on to the
balcony, sat there motionless, and lo