“Is it not beautiful,” he said, “the rose garden in the moonlight? One can almost fancy the roses opening beneath the moon’s light as in daytime by the sun’s warm rays.”
“Yes,” said Patty, falling in with his fanciful mood, “and I think, perhaps, at night, the white roses and the pale yellow ones bloom. Then at daybreak, the pink or blush roses open, and at midday the deep red ones.”
“You have the mind of a poet, Miss Fairfield. Where do you get those graceful conceits?”
“Oh, I don’t know,” said Patty, carelessly; “I think they are the result of this beautiful moonlight night, and these picturesque surroundings.”
“Yes, I am sure that is true. You have a soul that responds to all beauty in art or nature. Let us take a short turn in the rose garden, and get a view of this noble old house with the moonlight full upon it.”
“But I want my ice cream,” objected Patty, who still had her schoolgirl appetite.
“We’ll stay but a moment, and we’ll return to find it awaiting us,” gently insisted Lord Ruthven, and Patty amiably went down the terrace steps and along the garden path with him.
Near a clump of cedars, only a short distance away, they turned to look at the beautiful old house. Herenden Hall was always a splendid picture, but especially at night, backgrounded by a gray sky full of racing clouds, and touched at every gable by the silver moonlight, it was enchanting.
“Oh,” said Patty, drawing a sigh, “it is the most wonderful effect I ever saw. See that great, quiet roof sloping darkly away, and beneath, the gay lights of the terrace, and the laughter of happy people.”
“It is a beautiful picture,” said Lord Ruthven, looking steadily at Patty, “but not so beautiful as another one I see. A lovely face framed in soft, shining curls, against a background of dark cedar trees.”