She hadn’t perceived him, and she stood there, slim and graceful, the moonlight bright upon her rapt face, with her arms outstretched and her head flung back, in an attitude of utter abandonment.  Harber felt his heart stir swiftly.  He knew what she was feeling, as she looked out over the shimmering half-moon of harbour, across the moaning white feather of reef, out to the illimitable sea, and drank in the essence of the beauty of the night.  Just so, at first, had it clutched him with the pain of ecstasy, and he had never forgotten it.  There would be no voicing that feeling; it must ever remain inarticulate.  Nor was the girl trying to voice it.  Her exquisite pantomime alone spelled her delight in it and her surrender to it.

He saw at a glance that he didn’t know her.  She was “new” to the islands.  Her clothes were evidence enough for that.  There was a certain verve to them that spoke of a more sophisticated land.  She might have been twenty-five though she seemed younger.  She was in filmy white from slipper to throat, and over her slender shoulders there drifted a gossamer banner of scarf, fluttering in the soft trade-wind.  Harber was very close to see this, and still she hadn’t observed him.

“Don’t let me startle you, please!” he said, as he stepped from the shadow of the trumpet-flower bush that had hitherto concealed him.

Her arms came down slowly, her chin lowered; her pose, if you will, melted away.  Her voice when she spoke was low and round and thrilled, and it sent an answering thrill through Harber.

“I’m mad!” she said.  “Moon-mad—­or tropic-mad.  I didn’t hear you.  I was worshipping the night!”

“As I have been,” said Harber, feeling a sudden pagan kinship with her mood.

She smiled, and her smile seemed the most precious thing in the world.  “You, too?  But it isn’t new to you ... and when the newness is gone every one—­here at least—­seems dead to it!”

“Sometimes I think it’s always new,” replied Harber.  “And yet I’ve had years of it ... but how did you know?”

“You’re Mr. Harber, aren’t you?”

“Yes.  But—–­”

“Only that I knew you were here, having heard of you from the Tretheways, and I’d accounted for every one else.  I couldn’t stay inside because it seemed to me that it was wicked when I had come so far for just this, to be inside stuffily dancing.  One can dance all the rest of one’s life in Michigan, you know!  So——­”

“It’s the better place to be—­out here,” said Harber abruptly.  “Need we go in?”

“I don’t know,” she said doubtfully.  “Maybe you can tell me.  You see, I’ve promised some dances.  What’s the usage here?  Dare I run away from them?”

“Oh, it might prove a three-day scandal if you did,” said Harber.  “But I know a bench off to the right, where it isn’t likely you’ll be found by any questing partner, and you needn’t confess to having had a companion.  Will you come and talk to me?”