Against the sideboard, fingering her white dress, Miss Shongut regarded her parents, and her smile was as wan as moonlight.
"Ain't I right, Renie?"
"Yes, papa."
* * * * *
On the bit of porch, the hall light carefully lowered and cushions from within spread at their feet, the dreamy quiet of evening and air as soft as milk flowed round and closed in about Miss Shongut and Mr. Hochenheimer.
They drew their rocking-chairs arm to arm, so that, behind a bit of climbing moonflower vine, they were as snug as in a bower. Stars shone over the roofs of the houses opposite; the shouts of children had died down; crickets whirred.
"Is the light from that street lamp in your eyes, Renie?"
"No, no."
The wooden floor reverberated as they rocked. A little thrill of breeze fluttered her filmy shoulder scarf against his hand. To his fermenting fancy it was as though her spirit had flitted out of the flesh.
"Ah, Miss Renie, I—I—"