“Good night, Dad,” said Jim, as his father left the room.
Josephine went to the window. She had rather a stiff, poupee walk.
“How is the night?” she said, as if to change the whole feeling in the room. She pushed back the thick grey-silk curtains. “Why?” she exclaimed. “What is that light burning? A red light?”
“Oh, that's only the pit-bank on fire,” said Robert, who had followed her.
“How strange!—Why is it burning now?”
“It always burns, unfortunately—it is most consistent at it. It is the refuse from the mines. It has been burning for years, in spite of all efforts to the contrary.”
“How very curious! May we look at it?” Josephine now turned the handle of the French windows, and stepped out.
“Beautiful!” they heard her voice exclaim from outside.
In the room, Julia laid her hand gently, protectively over the hand of Cyril Scott.
“Josephine and Robert are admiring the night together!” she said, smiling with subtle tenderness to him.