After supper we played round games, and the nervous young lady talked.  She could not keep her mind on cards, and therefore played no game.  In the course of the evening Mrs. Larramie took occasion to say to me, and her eyes were very full as she spoke, that she did not want me to think she had forgotten that that day I had given her her daughter, and although the others—­greatly to my satisfaction—­did not indulge in any such embarrassing expressions of gratitude, they did not fail to let me know the high estimation in which they held me.  The little girl, Clara, sat close to me while I was playing, every now and then gently stroking my arm, and when she was taken off to bed she ran back to say to me that the next time I brought a bear to their house she hoped I would also bring some little ones.  Even Percy took occasion to let me know that, under the circumstances, he was willing to overlook entirely the fact of my being a school-master.

After the games, when the family was scattering—­not to their several bed-chambers, but apparently to various forms of recreation or study which seemed to demand their attention—­Miss Edith asked me if I would not like to take a walk and look at the stars.  As this suggestion was made in the presence of her parents, I hesitated a moment, expecting some discreet objection.  But none came, and I assented most willingly to a sub-astral promenade.

There was a long, flagged walk which led to the road, and backward and forward upon this path we walked many, many times.

“I like starlight better than moonlight,” said Miss Edith, “for it doesn’t pretend to be anything more than it is.  You cannot do anything by starlight except simply walk about, and if there are any trees, that isn’t easy.  You know this, you don’t expect anything more, and you’re satisfied.  But moonlight is different.  Sometimes it is so bright out-of-doors when the moon is full that you are apt to think you could play golf or croquet, or even sit on a bench and read.  But it isn’t so.  You can’t do any of these things—­at least, you can’t do them with any satisfaction.  And yet, month after month, if you live in the country, the moon deceives you into thinking that for a great many things she is nearly as good as the sun.  But all she does is to make the world beautiful, and she doesn’t do that as well as the sun does it.  The stars make no pretences, and that is the reason I like them better.

“But I did not bring you out here to tell you all this,” she continued, offering me no opportunity of giving my opinions on the stars and moon.  “I simply wanted to say that I am so glad and thankful to be walking about on the surface of the earth with whole bones and not a scratch from head to foot”—­at this point my heart began to sink:  I never do know what to say when people are grateful to me—­“that I am going to show you my gratitude by treating you as I know you would like to be treated.  I shall not pour out my gratitude before you and make you say things which are incorrect, for you are bound to do that if you say anything—­”