He knew it was the moon shining through flowers—a soft, mellow moonlight which came through a small window.
Then the full rush of thought came, and he started up.
“Awake, dear?”
“Mother!” cried Nic. “Why, have I been to sleep?”
“Yes, my darling, a long time.”
“And the tea—dinner?”
“It’s quite ready, my dear.”
“But—but what time is it?”
“The clock has just struck one, my boy.”
“Oh, what a shame!”