Stamford stumbled thoughtfully on to his bedroom window. He was throwing one leg over the sill when Isabel Bulkeley spoke suddenly from over his head.
"I was wrong, Mr. Stamford."
He was as much startled by her presence there as by anything else that had happened that night, and he did not reply until he was safe in his room.
"You—you frightened me, Miss Bulkeley," he gasped, leaning out to see her.
Her low laugh made him himself again.
"How could you be wrong?"
"You certainly do more than sleep—and doze—and sleep again. Here you're strolling out when everyone else is asleep."
"It's very lonely," he hinted.
He felt that she was laughing in the silence that followed.
"There are more reasonable hours for a moonlight promenade than ten minutes to one in the morning—even in such moonlight."