“Oh, we had the firelight—Parker forgot to bring the lamp.”
“And you forgot to ring for it,” said Isola, going over to the bow-window, and drawing back a curtain. “What a lovely sky! Who would think it was Christmas-time?”
The moon was in her second quarter, shining brilliantly, in the deep purple of a sky almost without a cloud.
“Will you put on your hat and jacket and come for a stroll in the garden, Isa?” asked Allegra. “It is a mild, dry night, and I don’t think the air can hurt you.”
“Hurt me! It will do me all the good in the world. Yes, I shall be ready in a moment.”
They went out into the hall, where Allegra packed her sister-in-law carefully in a warm, fur-lined jacket, and flung a tartan shawl round her own shoulders. Then they went out into the garden, and to the lawn by the river. The moon was shining on the running water, brightly, coldly, clear, while the meadows on the opposite bank were wrapped in faint, white mists, which made all the landscape seem unreal.
“Are you not too tired for walking here after your long day, Allegra?” Isola asked, when they had gone up and down the path two or three times.
“Tired, no. I could walk to Tywardreath. I could walk to the Mausoleum. Shall we go there? The sea must be lovely under that moon.”
“My dearest, it is nearly seven o’clock, and you have been tramping about all day. If you are not very tired, you must be very much excited, Allegra. I am longing to hear what it all means.”