"All off at earth. Come on. Button me. Am I a sight?"
"I disregard the bait."
"You're being funny. Come. No—wait. We've forgotten the orchids. I wonder if I really came for orchids. Should you be terribly offended if I said I thought I did?"
"Extravagantly offended."
Cane returned late in the day. The cows had been sold—"I even made five hundred clear and above the feeding and labour on the one with the off leg. She'll breed good cattle." The barns were as clean as a park, and Roseanne was singing as she prepared dinner.
Nothing happened until a hot night in August. The leaves were still and limp, the moon had set. Hugo lay awake and he heard her coming quietly up the stairs.
"Ralph had a headache and he took two triple bromides. Of course, I could always have said that I heard one of the cows in distress and came to wake you. But he's jealous, poor dear. And then—but who could resist a couple of simultaneous alibis?"
"Nobody," he whispered. She sat down on his bed. He put his arm around her and felt that she was in a nightdress. "I wish I could see you now."
"Then take this flashlight—just for an instant. Wait." He heard the rustle of her clothing. "Now."
She heard him draw in his breath. Then the light went out.