"Older, I should think; but then he is so—so—high-foreheaded it makes him look older."
"He was her teacher at college, so they tell me. She must have been quite young when he first knew her."
"Yes, she was only sixteen when she entered Wellington, I believe."
"They seem very happy," with a deep sigh that made me feel so sorry for him.
"He must be thinking of his little Virginia," I thought. She had lived only a year after her marriage and had been only nineteen when she died—he only a year or so older. "I suspect the moonlight reminds him of her. I know he did not mean to pick me up so sharply, and I am just not going to notice it."
Dee, who was biding her time hoping to get the crowd settled somewhere so we could slip off to the custard-colored hotel, now called to us to see the bust of William Gilmore Simms, and to tell her father about the nice, aristocratic old policeman who had so enthralled us by reciting the "Grape-Vine Swing" that morning.
Finally, with much maneuvering on her part, everyone was seated on some benches looking out over the water, with a clump of palmettos protecting them from the wind and at the same time hiding the road to the old house on the corner. Professor Green and Zebedee had entered into an amicable discussion of the political situation, and Mrs. Green was in the midst of an anecdote about her friend and sister-in-law, Judy Kean, now Mrs. Kent Brown, an anecdote told especially for Dum's benefit, since it was of art and artists.
"Now's the time! Hurry!" whispered Dee.
In a moment we had slipped away and were sprinting along the walk to the custard-colored house. It was not much of a run, about two city blocks, I fancy, and we did it in an incredibly short time.
The old house looked very peaceful and still from without, but as we entered the door we found that, as was its habit, a wind was imprisoned in its walls and was whistling dolorously. The moonlight flooded the hall and stairs, making it quite light. Dee clutched my hand, and we went up those steps very quietly and quickly, through the bridal chamber and on into the corridor beyond, on which the numbered doors opened.