“Glad I could come round,” he said. “Now for the lanterns. We must have them all down the garden wall, and not too far apart, either. Six feet apart, eh? Now I’ll step the wall and we can calculate how many we shall want there. I think I step a full yard still. Not cramped in the joints yet.”
It took some half hour to settle the whole scheme of lighting, which, since Major Ames was not going to pay for it, he recommended being done in a somewhat lavish manner. With so large a number of lanterns, it would be easily possible to see his leg, and he was strong on the subject of fancy dress.
“There’ll be some queer turn-outs, I shouldn’t wonder,” he said; “but I expect there will be some creditable costumes too. By Jove! it will be quite the event of the year. Amy and I, with our little dinners, will have to take a back seat, as they say.”
“I hope Cousin Amy won’t think it forward of me,” said Millie.
Major Ames said that which is written “Pshaw.” “Forward?” he cried. “Why, you are bringing a bit of life among us. Upon my word, we wanted rousing up a bit. Why, you are a public benefactor.”
They had sat down to rest again after their labour of stepping out the brick walls under the mulberry-tree, where the grass was dry, and only a faint shimmer of starlight came through the leaves. At the bottom of the garden a train shrieked by, and the noise died away in decrescent thunder. She leaned forward a little towards him, putting up her face much as Amy had done.
“Ah, if only I thought I was making things a little pleasant,” she said.
Suddenly it struck Major Ames that he was expected to kiss her. He leaned forward, too.
“I think you know that,” he said. “I wish I could thank you for it.”
She did not move, but in the dusk he could see she was smiling at him. It looked as if she was waiting. He made an awkward forward movement and kissed her.