CHAPTER EIGHT
The next evening at Nancy, an hour or two after supper, King William was tapping at Mrs. Garnier’s door, which was ajar.
“She is asleep,” warned Alexina from within.
“Then come on out,” he begged, “the moon’s up.”
“Go on,” Mrs. Leroy told her, “Willy wants you,” which to Charlotte was reason for all things.
“It’s windy,” he called softly, “bring a wrap.”
The girl came, bringing her reefer jacket and her Tam and put them on in the hall. The jacket was blue, the Tam was scarlet, and both were jaunty. He regarded her in them with satisfaction.
“Now, there,” said he, with King William approval, “I like that.”
They went down and out. She was tired, she said, so they sat on the bench under the wild orange. The moss, drooping from the branches, fluttered above them. The wind was fitful, lifting and dying. It was a grey night, with scattered mists lying low over the lake, while a shoal of little clouds were slipping across the face of the moon.
“It’s been too soft and warm,” said he; “it can’t last.”