The princess had disappeared, and Madame Phoebus came up to say good-night to her hostess.
“It is such a delicious night,” said Theodora, “that I have ordered our strawberries-and-cream on the terrace. You must not go.”
And so she invited them all to the terrace. There was not a breath of air, the garden was flooded with moonlight, in which the fountain glittered, and the atmosphere was as sweet as it was warm.
“I think the moon will melt the ice to-night,” said Theodora, as she led Madame Phoebus to a table covered with that innocent refreshment in many forms, and pyramids of strawberries, and gentle drinks which the fancy of America could alone devise.
“I wonder we did not pass the whole evening on the terrace,” said Lothair.
“One must sing in a room,” said Euphrosyne, “or the nightingales would eclipse us.”
Lothair looked quickly at the speaker, and caught the glance of a peculiar countenance—mockery blended with Ionian splendor.
“I think strawberries-and-cream the most popular of all food,” said Madame Phoebus, as some touched her beautiful lips.
“Yes; and one is not ashamed of eating it,” said Theodora.
Soon there was that stir which precedes the breaking up of an assembly. Mrs. Giles and some others had to return to town. Madame Phoebus and Euphrosyne were near neighbors at Roehampton, but their carriage had been for some time waiting. Mr. Phoebus did not accompany them. He chose to walk home on such a night, and descended into the garden with his remaining friends.