"I never make conversation out of such things, Mr. Rattleton," she answered. "You may depend that I shall not repeat it to a soul. And now good-night."
She looked into his eyes with a radiant smile, and held out her hand. Jack took it as if he were afraid of breaking the little thing, and then dropped it quickly. "Good-night," he said, shortly, and went down the steps and over the lawn, followed by Mr. Blathers.
She stood for a moment and watched him putting great stretches of moonlit grass behind his long thin legs, the little dark figure trotting beside him. Then she went in, threw her arms around her aunt's neck, and kissed her.
"Has Mr. Rattleton gone?" asked Mrs. West. "He seems like a nice fellow."
"Yes, and he is one. When I first met him, I thought him easy enough to understand, and like every other boy; but I can't quite make him out now. At any rate he is a species new to me and an interesting one"; and she ran up-stairs to her room, singing.
Jack Rattleton strode along the river bank and out to the end of the Pequot pier. He stood there for a minute, looking over the river and Sound, then sat down on a bench. That enchantress, the moon, was aided in her fairy work by the riding lights of the dark fleet of yachts at anchor, and by the colored sailing lights of the becalmed late comers drifting in from the Sound. But the lights only hurt his eyes. He had sat there some time when he heard his name spoken.
"Beautiful, isn't it," said Holworthy, behind him.
"Got a weed?" asked Jack.
"Yes."
"Give it to me." He bit off the end of the cigar nervously, and lit it with thick puffs. "Gad!" he muttered, "I'm glad I'm not training for the crew. How did he ever stand it! But Charlie Rivers is a very different breed of cats from me."