The American looked eagerly at Rosina.
“I am going very soon,” she said; “perhaps that will be best.”
He appeared puzzled.
“If you’d rather I stayed—” he suggested.
“No,” said Von Ibn sharply, “it is better that you go!” then he added, in a somewhat milder tone, “it is very fine, the moonlight from the University.”
When they were alone, he was silent and led her out of the crowded garden down upon the Quai. It was a superb night, and the moon and its golden beams were mirrored in the lake. Little waves came running tranquilly across the shivering silver sheet and tossing themselves gently up against the stone-sheathed bank; some merry boat-loads were drifting out among the shadows, listening to the music from the shore and sending a silver echo of laughter to join in its accords.
They walked on until something of their own tumult was stayed by the stillness, and then Von Ibn said quietly:
“Tell me of what you were saying.”
“I was saying that you thought that I had remained here because of that man, and yet it was really all an accident.”
He shrugged his shoulders slightly.