" It had been a hansom then, and the night air had
blown in their faces, instead of as now in these infernal taxis, down
the back of one's neck. They left the cab and crossed the Row; passed
the end of the Long Water, up among the trees. There, on two chairs
covered by Winton's coat, they sat side by side. No dew was falling
yet; the heavy leaves hung unstirring; the air was warm, sweet-smelling.
Blotted against trees or on the grass were other couples darker than the
darkness, very silent. All was quiet save for the never-ceasing hum of
traffic. From Winton's lips, the cigar smoke wreathed and curled. He
was dreaming. The cigar between his teeth trembled; a long ash fell.
Mechanically he raised his hand to brush it off--his right hand! A voice
said softly in his ear:
"Isn't it delicious, and warm, and gloomy black?"
Winton shivered, as one shivers recalled from dreams; and, carefully
brushing off the ash with his left hand, he answered:
"Yes; very jolly. My cigar's out, though, and I haven't a match."
Gyp's hand slipped through his arm.
"All these people in love, and so dark and whispery--it makes a sort of
strangeness in the air. Don't you feel it?"
Winton murmured:
"No moon to-night!"
Again they were silent. A puff of wind ruffled the leaves; the night,
for a moment, seemed full of whispering; then the sound of a giggle
jarred out and a girl's voice:
"Oh! Chuck it, 'Arry.
Pages:
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147