When Phyllis came up to wish her good-night, she was received with an exclamation at her lateness in a peevish tone:  ‘Yes, I am late,’ said Phyllis, merrily, ’but we had not done dancing till tea-time, and then Eleanor was so kind as to say I might sit up to have some tea with them.’

’Ah! and you quite forgot how tiresome it is up here, with nobody to speak to,’ said Ada.  ’How cross they were not to stop the music when I said it made me miserable!’

’Claude said it was selfish to want to stop five people’s pleasure for one,’ said Phyllis.

‘But I am so ill,’ said Ada.  ’If Claude was as uncomfortable as I am, he would know how to be sorry for me.  And only think—­Phyl, what are you doing?  Do not you know I do not like the moonlight to come on me.  It is like a great face laughing at me.’

‘Well, I like the moon so much!’ said Phyllis, creeping behind the curtain to look out, ’there is something so white and bright in it; when it comes on the bed-clothes, it makes me go to sleep, thinking about white robes, oh! and all sorts of nice things.’

‘I can’t bear the moon,’ said Ada; ’do not you know, Maurice says that the moon makes the people go mad, and that is the reason it is called lunacy, after la lune?’

‘I asked Miss Weston about that,’ said Phyllis, ’because of the Psalm, and she said it was because it was dangerous to go to sleep in the open air in hot countries.  Ada, I wish you could see now.  There is the great round moon in the middle of the sky, and the sky such a beautiful colour, and a few such great bright stars, and the trees so dark, and the white lilies standing up on the black pond, and the lawn all white with dew! what a fine day it will be to-morrow!’

‘A fine day for you!’ said Ada, ’but only think of poor me all alone by myself.’

‘You will have baby,’ said Phyllis.

’Baby—­if he could talk it would be all very well.  It is just like the cross people in books.  Here I shall lie and cry all the time, while you are dancing about as merry as can be.’

‘No, no, Ada, you will not do that,’ said Phyllis, with tears in her eyes.  ’There is baby with all his pretty ways, and you may teach him to say Aunt Ada, and I will bring you in numbers of flowers, and there is your new doll, and all the pretty things that came from London, and the new book of Fairy Tales, and all sorts—­oh! no, do not cry, Ada.’

’But I shall, for I shall think of you dancing, and not caring for me.’

’I do care, Ada—­why do you say that I do not?  I cannot bear it, Ada, dear Ada.’

‘You don’t, or you would not go and leave me alone.’

‘Then, Ada, I will not go,’ said Phyllis; ’I could not bear to leave you crying here all alone.’

’Thank you, dear good Phyl, but I think you will not have much loss.  You know you do not like dancing, and you cannot do it well, and they will be sure to laugh at you.’