His resentful tone, even more than his words, dismissed her, but she left him without apparent grievance, saying quietly, "I will send August."
LXVII.
Agatha did not come down to supper with Burnamy. She asked August, when she gave him her father's order, to have a cup of tea sent to her room, where, when it came, she remained thinking so long that it was rather tepid by the time she drank it.
Then she went to her window, and looked out, first above and next below. Above, the moon was hanging over the gardened hollow before the Museum with the airy lightness of an American moon. Below was Burnamy behind the tubbed evergreens, sitting tilted in his chair against the house wall, with the spark of his cigar fainting and flashing like an American firefly. Agatha went down to the door, after a little delay, and seemed surprised to find him there; at least she said, "Oh!" in a tone of surprise.
Burnamy stood up, and answered, "Nice night."
"Beautiful!" she breathed. "I didn't suppose the sky in Germany could ever be so clear."
"It seems to be doing its best."
"The flowers over there look like ghosts in the light," she said dreamily.
"They're not. Don't you want to get your hat and wrap, and go over and expose the fraud?"
"Oh," she answered, as if it were merely a question of the hat and wrap,
"I have them."