He had risen and stood before her, looking at her.
"Rose," he said, "you're a darling."
"Am I?" She was radiant.
"I am going to think up the things lovers have said, and read Solomon's Song, maybe! But now I'm going back to the plantation, to let the Almighty God and the undergods have a chance to tell me how to give you up."
"Ask them now, Osmond," she breathed. "Ask here, while I am here to answer, too."
"No," said Osmond. He shook his head. "Not while we are together. I can't listen to Him."
In the road he met Peter. They stopped, and Peter said at once,—
"I've got three orders from New York. When they're finished, I'm going back to France."
Osmond could not at once recall himself, even for his boy. Peter seemed only a figure of the night, familiarly dear, and yet unrelated to the great dream that swept across the sky with banners. Peter spoke again bluntly.