"Georgiana," I whispered, "were you, too, looking at the moon?"
"Part of the time," she said, sourly. "Isn't it permitted?"
"Sylvia left her scissors in the arbor, and I can't find them."
"She'll find them to-morrow."
"If they get wet, you know, they'll rust."
"I keep something to take rust off."
"Georgiana, I've got something to tell you about Sylvia."
"What? That you kissed her?"
"N—o! Not that, exactly!"
"Good-night!"