"Well, don't depend too much on Indiana's domesticity," said Mrs. Bunker.
"We generally gauge a daughter by her mother, in England," stated Lord Canning.
"Well, it's different over here. The young generation are so precocious—so far ahead of the mothers."
"I do not call it an advance. The daughters would do well to copy their mothers in their allegiance to the home. I hope, if Indiana does me the honor to consent—"
"Well, you can have that out with her. She may be a model of domesticity, but you never know how a girl's going to develop. You can't be sure of everything"—she laughed mockingly—"that's the risk of marriage."
"I am staking everything on this one card—marriage," said Lord Canning.
"Why will you men play so high?" queried Mrs. Bunker, laughing again, as she swept out on the balcony.
"Why?" echoed Lord Canning, looking into the fire. His dark eyes smiled at what he saw there—the picture he had described in the glowing logs, had been his answer. "Yes, it is time I snatched a little happiness—how little, after all! The rest of my natural life seems short enough to love her in."
"We're going, Lord Canning," called Mrs. Bunker.
He hurried out, offering his arm to Indiana, as the procession followed Haller down to the boat-house. The lake by moonlight was a scene of such mysterious beauty that no one felt inclined to talk. Lord Canning was somewhat disposed to question the reality of his surroundings. He was drifting down a silvery sea of enchantment, Indiana's white-robed form at his side. Oblivious of criticism, he scarcely took his eyes from her young face, etherealized in the moonlight. Glen watched his loverlike attitude, with growing anger. To the various camps along the lake, the illuminated launch, passing with the faint strains of the mandolin, presented quite a fairy-like spectacle. Later, driving through the country, they were all talkative and lively, regaling the night with choruses, Glen playing and singing with a gayety he was far from feeling. Stillwater, who drove, complied, unhesitatingly, to a request for the old road. Lord Canning sat silent and spellbound the entire way, watching the stream winding before him—touched with tremulous waves of silver; the little islands dreaming in a moonlit haze.