“I want you to see how the setting moonlight looks on the river,” he said. “There is nothing in all nature like it. It floats like a crescent above, falling into the arms of its companion below. All nature is love and never fails to paint a love scene in preference to all others, if permitted. How else can you account for it making two lover moons fall into each other's arms,” he laughed.
She looked at him enraptured. It was the tribute which mediocrity pays to genius.
Presently they passed by Westmoreland, and from Alice's window a light shone far out into the golden tinged leaves of the beeches near.
Travis glanced up at it. Then at the pretty mill-girl by his side:
“A star and—a satellite!”—he smiled to himself.