“About the first of October. I hadn’t fully decided till to-day. I had thought of inviting you two to go with me.”
He looked with a smile at his sister and his daughter, then somewhat quizzically at Anthony. The latter was regarding him with an alert face in which, as nearly as could be made out in the dim light, were no signs of discomfiture.
“Horatio,” said Mrs. Dingley, “I wish you would come into the library for a few minutes. This reminds me of a letter I had to-day from one of your old friends, asking when you were to be at home.”
The French window closed on the two older people. Juliet, left sitting on the arm of her father’s chair, found Anthony behind her.
“Do you want to go on a voyage to the Philippines?” he was asking over her shoulder.
“I’m not sure just what I do want,” she answered rather breathlessly.
“The tea-kettle would rust while you were gone.”
He got no reply.
“The dust would grow inches deep on the dining-table we polished so carefully.”
Juliet rose and walked slowly to the edge of the steps. Anthony followed. “Let’s go and walk on the terrace,” he proposed, and they ran down to the smooth sward below. It was a warm night, with no dew, and the short-shaven grass was dry. All the stars were out. Anthony walked beside the figure in white, his hands clasped behind his back.