“It’s going to rain,” said Cecily, as they drew up before the door, and, indeed, when they came out after the play, the streets were all wet and shining.
“Isn’t it beautiful and wonderful!” she exclaimed, as they drove home. “It’s Aladdin’s palace!” The streets were like long rivers of silver, in which were reflected trembling shafts of gold and ruby and amber. Overhead the moon sailed clear of clouds in an enormous gulf of star-sown sky. “How can any one say that London isn’t wonderful?” she went on. “To me it’s a magic city. Look at those great swinging globes. They’re shooting out starry spikes of enchantment all the time. And see those trees against the sky!”
They had turned into the Mall by this time, and Dick glanced at her. Her eyes were shining, her lips a little parted with eagerness. Suddenly he thought of the woman with whom he had walked across the meadows at Sheepcote. He recalled her drawn face and faded eyes, and something that was almost like an instinct of cruelty prompted his next words.
“How does Miss Burton do as secretary?” he asked. He had never before alluded to her daily presence in the house.
She glanced at him a moment, in her turn.
“Oh, I believe very well,” she returned, quietly, with no trace of confusion. “Robert hopes to get his new book out in the spring.”
“And yours?”
“It’s got to be accepted first,” she returned, with a laugh. “But I shall finish it in a week, I think.” She sighed. “How I shall miss it!”
“Begin something else at once,” he advised. “You have ideas?”
“Thousands!” she said, gayly.