At one moment on the evening of the day of Cleopatra's first fall, when the laughter against him rose too high, the moon revealed to Stephen Fearwell that tears of indignation were welling in Mrs. Tribe's eyes; and then thinking of Miss Mallowcoid, and of how this one holiday in the year, away from the hard spinster's cold tyranny, was being spoilt for her by these evening debates, he rose smartly to his feet, clapped the Incandescent Gerald on the back, and tugged at his collar.
"Look here, sir," he cried, "you're beginning to interest me in this Inner Light of yours. Come for a walk and tell me more about it. Perhaps Mrs. Tribe will join us?"
"Oh, don't take them away!" cried Guy Tyrrell, while Leonetta and Vanessa moaned.
"Sorry," said Stephen, "but I honestly want to hear all about it. Come on, Tribe!"
Incandescent Gerald rose, half dazed. He believed in his Inner Light, whatever Denis might have to say against it, and he could hardly resist Stephen's gratifying suggestion. He smiled guilelessly into the young man's face, and he, Stephen, and Mrs. Tribe vanished into the darkness.
"Stephen was a lout to go and do that!" Guy exclaimed.
"I think he noticed that Mrs. Tribe was beginning to cry," said Vanessa.
"Nonsense, Nessy, you must be dreaming!" retorted Denis.