“Does there not seem a soul in the moonlight?” for instance.  Arabella, after a rapturous glance at the rosy orb, put it to Mr. Pericles, in subdued impressive tones.  She had to repeat her phrase; Mr. Pericles then echoing, with provoking monotony of tone, “Sol?”—­whereupon “Soul!” was reiterated, somewhat sharply:  and Mr. Pericles, peering over the collar of the bear, with half an eye, continued the sentence, in the manner of one sent thereby farther from its meaning:  “Ze moonlight?” Despairing and exasperated, Arabella commenced afresh:  “I said, there seems a soul in it”; and Mr. Pericles assented bluntly:  “In ze light!”—­which sounded so little satisfactory that Arabella explained, “I mean the aspect;” and having said three times distinctly what she meant, in answer to a terrific glare from the unsubmerged whites of the eyes of Mr. Pericles, this was his comment, almost roared forth: 

“Sol! you say so-whole—­in ze moonlight—­Luna?  Hein?  Ze aspect is of Sol!—­Yez.”

And Mr. Pericles sank into his bear again, while Wilfrid Pole, who was swinging his long cavalry legs to rearward, shouted; and Mr. Sumner, a rising young barrister, walking beside Cornelia, smiled a smile of extreme rigidity.  Arabella was punished for claiming rights of birth.  She heard the murmuring course of the dialogue between Cornelia and Mr. Sumner, sufficiently clear to tell her it was not fictitious and was well sustained, while her heart was kept thirsting for the key to it.  In advance were Adela and Edward Buxley, who was only a rich alderman’s only son, but had the virtue of an extraordinary power of drawing caricatures, and was therefore useful in exaggerating the features of disagreeable people, and showing how odious they were:  besides endearing pleasant ones exhibiting how comic they could be.  Gossips averred that before Mr. Pole had been worried by his daughters into giving that mighty sum for Brookfield, Arabella had accepted Edward as her suitor; but for some reason or other he had apparently fallen from his high estate.  To tell the truth, Arabella conceived that he had simply obeyed her wishes, while he knew he was naughtily following his own; and Adela, without introspection at all, was making her virgin effort at the caricaturing of our sex in his person:  an art for which she promised well.

Out of the long black shadows of the solitary trees of the park, and through low yellow moonlight, they passed suddenly into the muffed ways of the wood.  Mr. Pericles was ineffably provoking.  He had come for gallantry’s sake, and was not to be rallied, and would echo every question in a roar, and there was no drawing of the man out at all.  He knocked against branches, and tripped over stumps, and ejaculated with energy; but though he gave no heed or help to his fair associate, she thought not the worse of him, so heroic can women be toward any creature that will permit himself to be clothed by a mystery.  At times the party hung still, fancying the voice aloft, and then, after listening to the unrelieved stillness, they laughed, and trod the stiff dry ferns and soft mosses once more.  At last they came to a decided halt, when the proposition to return caused Adela to come up to Mr. Pericles and say to him, “Now, you must confess!  You have prohibited her from singing to-night so that we may continue to be mystified.  I call this quite shameful of you!”