"It's absurd," she said, plaintively, "but in this place I become horribly sleepy by nine o'clock. You won't mind if I go up, will you?"
"Not if you feel that way about it," he said, smiling.
"Oh, Rita!" said Valerie, reproachfully, "I thought we were going to row
Louis about on the stump-pond!"
"I am too sleepy; I'd merely fall overboard," said Rita, simply, gathering up her bonbons. "Louis, you'll forgive me, won't you? I don't understand why, but that child never sleeps."
They rose to bid her good night. Valerie's finger tips rested a moment on Neville's sleeve in a light gesture of excuse for leaving him and of promise to return. Then she went away with Rita.
When she returned, the piazza was deserted except for Neville, who stood on the steps smoking and looking out across the misty waste.
"I usually go up with Rita," she said. "Rita is a dear. But do you know,
I believe she is not a particularly happy girl."
"Why?"
"I don't know why…. After all, such a life—hers and mine—is only happy if you make it so…. And I don't believe she tries to make it so. Perhaps she doesn't care. She is very young—and very pretty—too young and pretty to be so indifferent—so tired."
She stood on the step behind and above him, looking down at his back and his well-set shoulders. They were inviting, those firm, broad, young shoulders of his; and she laid both hands on them.