“Now get your beauty sleep, Madama. It’s all settled. Good-night”; and the door closed.
The moon sailing over the Park sent a stream of light into Irving’s bed-chamber. He watched it move from log to log, from wash-stand to chiffonier, and as it reached each new object he felt a fresh access of impatience at himself for wasting these silent hours.
He had seen Nixie before retiring, and that youth had jumped as joyfully at the fishing scheme as any trout at the fly.
He had warmly declined to divulge his intentions to the family.
“I will leave a note addressed to mother on my table,” he announced. “It will ask forgiveness and tell her that it will be of no use to try to find me.”
“I have told Mrs. Bruce I’m going,” rejoined Irving.
“With what result?”
“Oh, she didn’t like it. She’s crazy about it here.”
“That’s what I say,” returned Robert triumphantly. “There’s nothing like the note on the dresser. It has stood the test of ages.”
And now Irving was wasting his time lying awake and watching the stealing moonlight.