Part 57 (1/2)

”Is Colonel Mallett ill?” she asked.

”N-no.... These are rather strenuous times--or threaten to be. Of course the Half-Moon is as solid as a rock. But even the very, very great are beginning to fuss.... And my father is not young, Kathleen. So I thought I'd like to run down and take him out to dinner once or twice--to a roof-garden or something, you know. It's rather pathetic that men of his age, grown gray in service, should feel obliged to remain in the stifling city this summer.”

”Of course you must go,” she said; ”you couldn't even hesitate. Is your mother worried?”

”I don't suppose she has the slightest notion that there is anything to worry over. And there isn't, I think. She and Nada will be in the Berks.h.i.+res; I'll go up and stay with them later--when Geraldine is all right again,” he added cheerfully.

Scott, fidgeting like a neglected pup, came wandering into the hall, book in hand.

”For the love of Mike,” he said impatiently, ”what have you two got to talk about all night?”

”My son,” observed Duane, ”there are a few subjects for conversation which do not include the centipede and the polka-dotted d.i.c.key-bird.

These subjects Kathleen and I furtively indulge in when we can arrange to elude you.”

Scott covered a yawn and glanced at Kathleen.

”Is Geraldine all right?” he asked with all the healthy indifference of a young man who had never been ill, and was, therefore, incapable of understanding illness in others.

”Certainly, she's all right,” said Duane. And to Kathleen: ”I believe I'll venture to knock at her door----”

”Oh, no, Duane. She isn't ready to see anybody----”

”Well, I'll try----”

”Please, don't!”

But he had her at a disadvantage, and he only laughed and mounted the stairs, saying:

”I'll just exchange a word with her or with her maid, anyway.”

When he turned into the corridor Geraldine's maid, seated in the window-seat sewing, rose and came forward to take his message. In a few moments she returned, saying:

”Miss Seagrave asks to be excused, as she is ready to retire.”

”Ask Miss Seagrave if I can say good-night to her through the door.”

The maid disappeared and returned in a moment.

”Miss Seagrave wishes you good-night, sir.”

So he thanked the maid pleasantly and walked to his own room, now once more prepared for him after the departure of those who had temporarily required it.

Starlight made the leaded windows brilliant; he opened them wide and leaned out on the sill, arms folded. The pale astral light illuminated a fairy world of meadow and garden and spectral trees, and two figures moving like ghosts down by the fountain among the roses--Rosalie and Grandcourt pacing the gravel paths shoulder to shoulder under the stars.

Below him, on the terrace, he saw Kathleen and Scott--the latter carrying a b.u.t.terfly net--examining the borders of white pinks with a lantern. In and out of the yellow rays swam mult.i.tudes of night moths, glittering like flakes of tinsel as the lantern light flashed on their wings; and Scott was evidently doing satisfactory execution, for every moment or two Kathleen uncorked the cyanide jar and he dumped into it from the folds of the net a fluttering victim.

”That last one is a Pandorus Sphinx!” he said in great excitement to Kathleen, who had lifted the big gla.s.s jar into the lantern light and was trying to get a glimpse of the exquisite moth, whose wings of olive green, rose, and bronze velvet were already beating a hazy death tattoo in the lethal fumes.

”A Pandorus! Scott, you've wanted one so much!” she exclaimed, enchanted.