A very merry party of people assembled at the manor on Saturday evening. Nathalie flitted about among them with dancing feet and shining eyes, and one and all caught the spirit of her contagious enthusiasm.
"Oh, what a lark it is," she cried. "It is full moon to-night, and everything has gone right from beginning to end."
"The end is not yet, Miss Nathalie," Farr said to her with a faint smile.
She shrugged her shoulders and laughed light-heartedly.
"Don't be cynical. It is a bad habit."
"The moon is rising," interposed Jean, turning about from the open doorway. "It is too lovely to stay indoors."
A hush fell upon them as they followed her out upon the veranda. Sentences left unfinished, gay laughter checked on the lips, paid tribute to the impressive beauty of the scene. Far away in the east the moon, with slow and stately grace, lifted its splendor above the dark line of the horizon. Against its flaming glory were sharply defined the somber trunks of sturdy oaks and spreading elms. Seen between their leafy branches lay the Sound, obscured a moment since by an impenetrable veil of darkness, but reflecting now on its rippling surface the golden light of the rising orb. The night air pulsed with the cheery chirp of the cricket, the monotonous chant of the katy-did. Softly the south wind blew rustling among the trees and shrubs.
Nathalie was the first to speak. Her quick ear had caught the sound of wheels.
"Here comes the stage at last. Do let us get off right away."
"Is everyone here?" queried Mrs. Andrews, looking around on the bevy of pretty girls with a smile of complacent satisfaction.