‘I can’t bear the moon,’ said Ada; ‘do not you know, Maurice says that the moon makes the people go mad, and that is the reason it is called lunacy, after la lune?’
‘I asked Miss Weston about that,’ said Phyllis, ‘because of the Psalm, and she said it was because it was dangerous to go to sleep in the open air in hot countries. Ada, I wish you could see now. There is the great round moon in the middle of the sky, and the sky such a beautiful colour, and a few such great bright stars, and the trees so dark, and the white lilies standing up on the black pond, and the lawn all white with dew! what a fine day it will be to-morrow!’
‘A fine day for you!’ said Ada, ‘but only think of poor me all alone by myself.’
‘You will have baby,’ said Phyllis.
‘Baby—if he could talk it would be all very well. It is just like the cross people in books. Here I shall lie and cry all the time, while you are dancing about as merry as can be.’
‘No, no, Ada, you will not do that,’ said Phyllis, with tears in her eyes. ‘There is baby with all his pretty ways, and you may teach him to say Aunt Ada, and I will bring you in numbers of flowers, and there is your new doll, and all the pretty things that came from London, and the new book of Fairy Tales, and all sorts—oh! no, do not cry, Ada.’
‘But I shall, for I shall think of you dancing, and not caring for me.’
‘I do care, Ada—why do you say that I do not? I cannot bear it, Ada, dear Ada.’
‘You don’t, or you would not go and leave me alone.’
‘Then, Ada, I will not go,’ said Phyllis; ‘I could not bear to leave you crying here all alone.’